


The Story of Blaise Zabini

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-25
Updated: 2007-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-19 16:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 43,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12413487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Blaise Zabini's your average eleven year old kid until she gets her Hogwarts letter. Then she's off, performing magic, making friends (and enemies), and trying her very hardest to ignore an annoying little crush on Draco Malfoy. See how she deals with it all. (This was written a long, long time before JKR confirmed Blaise as male, just in case ...





	1. Intro to the Screwed-up Mess that is My Life

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

Chapter 1 

Intro to the Screwed Up Mess That is My Life

If you’re looking for a story where the hero defeats the odds and saves the day, rescuing a swooning damsel in distress, why the hell did you pick this story? There’s nothing but depression and misery, tragedy and deep, aching, unrequited love. Well, not quite, but I’m sure you get the picture. Just as a disclaimer, this story is definitely not pretty, so I don’t blame you if you want to leave. It does get better in some places, though, so if you think you can stomach it, then stick around. 

When I was born, I was totally unwanted. My mother resented me and fuck knows who my father was. My mom was a slut you see; she entertained so many guys in her life, that I never knew which one was which. And I had to live through that day after day. Maybe that’s why I’m so screwed up now … 

Anyway, the point is; I had no one to love me. I know, I know, that is such a cliché right? But it’s true. Every goddamned word is true. I had no one; no one at all, who would hold me, safe and warm, and tell me everything was going to be alright. All I got was a slap across the face and told I was a mistake. 

Nothing changed when I started school. I was still messed up, and my mom still slept with any guy that crossed her path. I never even had any friends to talk to. I suppose that was because I was weird. Seriously, I kept making things happen without meaning to. 

For example; I was so pissed off at one of my teachers that I wished she was dead — or at least grievously injured — I glared so hard at the glass of water on her desk that it shattered and a shard of glass flew into the air, hitting the teacher somewhere on her face. She almost died. You’ve probably heard about something like that in the kid’s film; _Matilda_ or something, but it’s true. I hurt that teacher just by wishing it. I’ve lived with that guilt for years now, and though it does diminish somewhat, you never truly forget it. 

After that, I was regarded a freak by the kids in my class and totally ignored by my teachers. They gave me work to do in the lessons, of course, but they never talked to me unless they had to. And you know something? I loved it. I loved the power I had over them; that just by staring at them I could make any one of them flinch and let me off the hook. 

Around my seventh birthday, my mom began to drink a hell of a lot more than she used to. She had a job; working in a diner, but eventually, she had so many hangovers that she stopped going in for her shifts, so they fired her ass and we were left with no money to buy food or pay the bills. My mom spent the little money we may have had on drink, so I relied on my grandma. She was the only person who didn’t hate me. 

By the time I reached ten years old, my mom was so screwed up with alcohol poisoning, it was a wonder she’d lasted as long she did. When she died, I didn’t cry. Why would I? After all, I’d never loved her much. I only went to the funeral because my grandmother said it would look bad if I didn’t. 

As I sat there in the front pew of the tiny church, pretending to cry because I was getting weird looks from my distant relatives, it hit me. I was free. There was no more parental figure to hurt me anymore than she already had done. No more nights of trying to sober my mom up for her shift at the diner. 

I was _free_. 

When I eventually went up to the coffin, for the last glimpse of my mom, I couldn’t help but think she was still so pretty. The morgue had evidently done a good job. My mom looked so beautiful, laid on the white satin pillows, golden hair streaming outwards, lips tinged with a purplish hue, marble-white skin without the flush of red that indicated life. Even in death, my mom’s appearance was deceiving everyone, I thought cynically. The twisted irony of it didn’t escape me at all. 

Outside, where the coffin was going to be buried, I stood, holding onto my grandma’s hand, watching as they lowered the coffin into the muddy hole. I threw a soft white rose — my mom’s favourite flower — onto it. I can remember thinking that I had finally escaped the pain my mother had inflicted on me, but I managed to squeeze out a few tears for everyone’s benefit. 

After the funeral and the dinner party in honour of my mom, I packed up the few belongings I had and went to live at my grandma’s. Finally, I felt like I was home. I had never been so comfortable in my life; I had enough to eat, as many clothes as possible and I had all the freedom in the world. My grandma often told me that she loved me more than anything, and looking back, I realise why she did it. It was because she felt she needed to compensate for all the hate and suffering I’d been through at the hands of my mother. 

Little did I know, that my time at my grandmother’s was to be cut short. 

A few weeks after my eleventh birthday, I received a letter. It was written on parchment and in green ink, with a wax seal on the back. I tore it open, wondering if it was a late birthday card, and found more parchment saying:

_HOGWARTS SCOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed., of Wizards)_

Dear Miss Zabini

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1st September. We await your owl by no later than the 31st July.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall Deputy Headmistress.

I stared, completely dumbstruck, at the piece of parchment in my hands. I didn’t fully understand what was going on, but I showed the letter to my grandma. 

When she saw it, I was so totally not expecting the reaction she gave me. 

“Oh, Blaise!”� she shrieked. “Blaise, do you know what this means?!”� 

“Not really,”� I shrugged. “Someone’s playing a joke?”� I guessed. 

“Oh bless you,”� she laughed, but I couldn’t see what was so funny. “You’ve been accepted by Hogwarts, darling!”� 

Seeing my blank look, she sat down next to me and looked me straight in the eye. 

“I’m going to be honest with you, Blaise,”� she said seriously. “Your mother, when she was younger, met a man named Nelson. He was a liar and a cheat, but your mother loved him, and eventually they had a baby girl. Nelson lied to Sarah, your mother, and said he wanted to marry her and she accepted. The night before their wedding, he left her. The last we heard of him was in a letter he left for Sarah. I can’t remember exactly what it said, but one reason why he left your mother was because he was a wizard. 

“Now when I read that,”� my grandmother went on, a scornful look on her face, “I thought he was crazy, insane and I was glad he’d gone. But then the child he left behind kept showing signs of unnatural power. So I tried contacting Nelson again, and it worked; I asked him if it was true, was he really a wizard? He told me that I wasn’t supposed to know, but yes, he was. Then I asked him if his daughter might also be magical, and he said she might be. And the more I thought about it, the more I realised that you must be a witch.”� 

“Me!”� I cried. “ _I_ ’m the kid you were talking about?!”� 

My grandma nodded, smiling at me kindly. “Yes Blaise,”� she said, softly. 

I thought it over and realised; all those times I’d made things happen without meaning to, they happened because I was a witch. I looked up to find my grandma watching my reaction, and for the first time in a long time, I smiled, genuinely and happily. Just the thought of Hogwarts felt like home, strange as it may seem. 

“There’s just one thing,”� my grandma said hesitantly. “This school; it’s in England, and I don’t know how you’re going to get there and when.”� She bit her lip and looked at the letter again. “Of course, you might not want to go,”� she said slowly. “Do you?”� 

I didn’t know whether to nod or shake my head; on the one hand I could start a new life, go to a school where people didn’t flinch at the sight of me. On the other, I’d be leaving my grandma behind and, stupid as it sounds, I’d miss her so much. Then I noticed she was smiling slightly, and I knew it was only a joke; she wanted me to go to Hogwarts. It made my decision a hell of a lot easier, so I nodded. 

“It’s settled then,”� she said folding the letter and putting it back in the envelope. “You’re going. I don’t know when, but we’ll make some arrangements for you to go over to England.”� 

“Grandma,”� I said slowly, “are you sure you want me to go?”� 

“I want you to be happy,”� she said finally, after a few minute’s pause, “because Lord knows you’ve had no happiness in your life. So, yes, I want you to go. But not for me, for you.”� 

And so that day I decided my life was going to be a damn sight different from now on.


	2. Next Stop: London, England

**Chapter 2**

**Next Stop: London, England......**

The minute I stepped on the plane from New York to London, I started panicking. After all, my grandma wasn’t exactly young anymore; what if I came back and she wasn’t there? If that happened, I don’t know what I’d do; probably refuse to go back to Hogwarts. But I do know one thing — at her funeral, whenever that might be, my tears won’t be fake; every single one of them will be real and I’ll mean them. 

On the plane, I was sat next to some fat dude who ate like a pig and drank like a fish, and a thin red haired woman who asked me kindly, why I was going to England. Since I could hardly tell her about Hogwarts, I said it was to visit a relative of mine in hospital. The woman tutted sympathetically, and then contented herself with reading a big, thick paperback novel through the rest of the flight. 

I must have slept somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, because the next thing I knew, a smiling air stewardess was tapping me lightly on the arm and offering me a tray of food. I didn’t realise how hungry I was until then and I peeled back the lid of the biggest container and began eating. It wasn’t the most appetising of dishes, but it was enough to keep hunger at bay. 

I didn’t stay awake long enough to watch the in-flight movie, and when I woke up a second time, the pilot was informing the passengers that we were about to land in London. 

“And, Ladies and Gentlemen,”� he said over the intercom, “don’t forget to set your watches to 8:00pm. Thank you and I hope you’ve had a comfortable flight.”� 

I couldn’t sit still; I almost punched the fat bastard next to me because he couldn’t be bothered to move so I could look out the window. As the plane descended, my ears hurt like hell but I didn’t care; it was worth it just to finally be flying above London. 

When I disembarked, I couldn’t help but gaze around me in awe, and listen to the weird accent. I couldn’t believe how big Heathrow airport was; if I didn’t know where I was going I could’ve gotten lost. But thankfully, a friendly tour guide was herding us towards the check-in point, or whatever it is. 

When the woman behind the passport desk had checked my passport, and I went into the waiting area, I started panicking. I was supposed to meet someone there, but there were so many people, I didn’t know where to go. 

Then woman with blonde hair to her shoulders came over to me. 

“Blaise Zabini?”� she asked briskly. 

I nodded, startled, as she held her hand out for me to shake. 

“Isabelle Kensington. Call me Izzy,”� she said, running a critical eye over my probably travel worn appearance. “My husband, George, is in the car.”� 

She turned, signalled to a porter and had my suitcases put on a trolley. We walked out of the airport, and I found out that there was more to Isabelle Kensington and her husband than I had originally thought. 

We pulled up outside a long black limousine with tinted windows, so I couldn’t see inside. A guy in a black suit opened the door for Izzy and me. Inside was a man with dark hair and a benign smile on his face. 

“Blaise, I presume?”� he said nodding to me. 

“George, I presume?”� I said, mimicking his upper class manner. 

His smile widened and he gave a small laugh. “Just like her father,”� I heard him mutter to his wife, who nodded back at him, a faint smile playing about her lips. But I pretended I hadn’t heard, and sat back in the soft leather seat. 

On the ride to ... wherever we were going, George and Izzy bombarded me with questions about my life in America and living with my mother. I wanted to hate them, but I couldn’t; they were far too nice for that. Whenever I tried being sarcastic and stupid, they’d laugh lightly and give me a look that made me answer them seriously. 

Then one question took me by surprise; Izzy asked me what my mother was like, and the words spilled from my mouth before I could stop them. 

“My mom was a bitch,”� I replied venomously, and they seemed so shocked that I could talk about her that way. “And let’s face it, my dad was never there. So really, both my parents have been failures.”� 

“Maybe your father wanted to see you,”� Izzy protested, but I shook my head. 

“If he wanted to see me badly enough,”� I said heatedly, “he could have at least called me, or visited sometime.”� 

The Kensingtons didn’t scold me for talking about my parents, but I could tell it was only from courtesy. 

While we'd been talking, we’d pulled up to a large, sinister mansion, about the size of a small castle. The driver got out from the front of the limo and opened the door for me and the Kensingtons. 

I stood in awe, staring up at this mansion. The turrets and balconies made it look like something out of a medieval fairytale. There was a shadowy feel to it; like there it held a thousand different unsolved secrets in its corridors. Noticing the look on my face, Izzy put a comforting hand on my shoulder and gently pushed me after George, who had already walked through the tall, dark oak doors, held open by a man who could only have been a butler. 

Then followed a tour all around the house. Izzy and George loved to entertain people apparently, so most of the rooms I saw were for parties. On the second floor there were libraries and studies, living rooms, and rooms filled with priceless antiques and paintings. I wandered around them, fascinated. I love art, you see, at my primary school, I was the best drawer in my class, and when we had art classes I used to feel completely at ease. There was no one glaring at me from across the classroom, there was only me and my drawing or painting. I used to get completely lost in it. 

Then on the third floor — yes the third floor, it’s a big mansion — there were the bedrooms. Some had gigantic four poster beds in them, with heavy velvet curtains; others had large, modern double beds in stylish colours and furnishings. 

Then we went into a huge room, a deep blue colour, with pictures of an undersea world hand-painted onto the walls. At one end of the room, in the centre of the wall, there was a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out onto the picturesque grounds. It was really a French window that opened onto a wide balcony; the railings made from stone and decked out with what looked like a miniature garden. I nearly cried with delight; this room was my favourite by far. The mermaids and dolphins seemed to come alive in the last rays of sunlight, and schools of multicoloured fish made me feel as I really was underwater. 

“You can have this as your room, if you want,”� Izzy said, smiling at my wide-eyed expression as I looked around at the scenes painted on the walls. 

“Really?”� I breathed. I knew this room was by far the most interesting in the mansion. 

“Of course,”� George nodded, his smile every bit as kind as his wife’s. “I’ll let the maids know this is your room whenever you’re here.”� 

He went out but I barely noticed. Izzy told me a bit about the room while he was gone. 

“It was decorated for one of George’s ancestors when she was a young girl,”� she explained. “The little girl was a very imaginative child, as you can probably tell. I think you might like this room better than the rest.”� 

I nodded, although she hadn’t asked me if this was true. “I love it.”� I whispered. “It’s so gorgeous; I really don’t know what to say.”� 

The sound of a bell rang through the house. “That means dinner is ready,”� Izzy explained as I looked around wildly. “Come on, you must be hungry.”� 

I had to agree with that. It seemed like years since the meal on the plane and my stomach rumbled in reminder. We went down two flights of stairs, before we came to the main dining room. 

“We only eat in the biggest one when we have guests,”� George explained, as I sat down in the high-backed, cushioned dining chairs pulled out for me by Harold, the butler. The appetizer came in — some kind of seafood soup that tasted weird but was really nice anyway — and for about fifteen minutes, all that could be heard was the chink of soup spoons against bowls as we ate. I sat back in my chair when I was finished, as Hilda, the maid, came to take my bowl away. 

“Do you guys always eat like this?”� I asked, almost laughing. 

George grinned. “Not every night,”� he said. “Only occasionally.”� 

“Good,”� I said, “because if I ate like this every night, by the time I go to school I won’t be able to get through the doors.”� 

George and Izzy laughed heartily, and I couldn’t help but smile myself. They were so happy and comfortable with their life together, it was infectious. I was happier just being here, and I didn’t really want to leave. Of course, I was curious about Hogwarts, but I figured that could wait for a while. 

Once dinner was finished, I was exhausted. I would have liked to explore the house on my own for a while, but I really was too tired. I yawned but tried to stifle it in case George and Izzy thought they were boring me to sleep. 

They noticed and smiled in unison. 

“I think maybe it’s time for some sleep,”� Izzy said kindly. “It’s been an extremely long day.”� 

I stood up and slowly followed them out of the dining room and up two flights of stairs again. By the time I reached my room, I was almost asleep on my feet. I said goodnight to George and Izzy, then went in. 

It was dark, since I didn’t have the lights on, but the moon shone dimly through the window. I went to it and stared out. The grounds were still and quiet but as beautiful as ever, and I suddenly felt so peaceful, like nothing was wrong and wouldn’t be forever. Sighing, I turned to the bed at the head of the room and sat down on it. When I’d put on my pyjamas, I pulled back the duvet on my bed and laid back against the soft pillows. 

_Interesting day_ , I thought sleepily. _I wonder what will happen at Hogwarts …_


	3. My Not So Imaginary World

**Chapter 3**

**My Not so Imaginary World.**

The next three weeks flew by, and before I knew it, I was stepping onto the Hogwarts Express, and a new life. 

Part of me was excited; I was, after all, going to a school for magic. What could be more exciting than that? But that part of me was buried in immense sadness; I was leaving George and Izzy behind for God knows how long. They said I could come back for the Christmas holidays, but it feels like I’ll never see them again. 

“We’ll see you soon,”� George said, smiling down at me kindly. 

“Goodbye Blaise,”� sniffed Izzy, with a smile of her own, thought it was considerably more tearful. 

“'Bye,”� I said quietly, and I stepped onto the train, waving to them as it pulled out of King’s Cross Station. 

Soon the grey streets of London were replaced by rolling green hills and the odd rambling stone farmhouse. For someone who had grown up in a polluted city with no scenery, this was breathtaking and wonderfully exhilarating. 

I was stood staring out of the window, when the compartment door opened behind me. A girl with golden blonde hair stepped in. Her eyes were a clear shade of blue, like the sky outside and she looked more artificial than a Barbie doll. I loathed her in an instant. She was the kind of person my mother was, and I’ve had enough of that to last me lifetime. So I ignored her and turned to the window again. The girl seemed insulted that I was snubbing her. 

“You could say hello,”� she said crossly. “It wouldn’t do any harm, you know.”� 

“I know,”� I said loftily, “but that’s not my problem.”� 

The girl blinked. “Well excuse me for trying to be nice,”� she said in a snobbish voice. 

I said nothing, hoping she’d get the point. 

She didn’t. 

“I’m Pansy,”� she went on, “Pansy Parkinson.”� 

“Blaise Zabini,”� I said in a vain attempt to get her out of here. When she didn’t move, I sighed impatiently and turned away again. 

Pansy _finally_ got the message; she stood up and flounced out of the compartment. I was alone: just the way I wanted it. I breathed a sigh of relief and sat down, watching the landscape flash past as the train rushed through it. 

At about one ‘o’ clock, a woman with a trolley piled high with what I could only hope was food, passed by my compartment. 

I didn’t have any money with me, so I just shook my head as the woman opened the door. 

“No thanks,”� I said to her. “I don’t want anything.”� 

“You look like you could do with something to eat,”� she said kindly, and she handed me a bar of chocolate. “Free of charge,”� she smiled, her eyes twinkling. Then she bustled away to another compartment. 

I stared down at the chocolate. It was wrapped in bright purple paper and on the front was: _Honeydukes Best Chocolate_. 

I had no idea who, or where, Honeydukes was, but the woman with the trolley was right; I did need something to eat. So I tore the wrapper off and bit into the chocolate. It tasted like heaven itself; it was creamy and rich, and I’ve never tasted anything so nice. 

A few hours later, I decided we must be nearly at Hogwarts, so I pulled on the plain black robes that I got a few weeks earlier. Sure enough, about ten minutes later, the train started to slow to a stop, and a voice echoed through the compartments: _“Please leave all your luggage on the train. It will be brought up to the castle later.”�_

I joined the crowd of people coming out of compartments along the train, and stepped out onto the platform outside. 

A voice rang out over the heads of people spilling out of the train. I looked up and saw a ... well, a giant, I think. Whatever he was, he was huge. And don’t mean huge as in wide, I mean _tall_. Plus there was the little fact of his wild beard and hair that made him look so ferocious. I shivered; it was cold and this guy was too scary to be allowed. 

He called for the first years to follow him, but I was damned if I was going to go first. A boy with black hair and glasses greeted this guy like they were old pals; I wondered where he got the nerve from. I, personally, was a little worried for my safety. 

We followed him to the shore of a gigantic lake where there were loads of boats waiting. 

“No more’n four to a boat!”� the scary guy yelled and then we sailed across the lake. 

As we rounded a corner, I saw the gigantic silhouette of a castle. Its turrets pointed towards the darkening sky and the windows that were lit up glimmered. It was like the Kensington Manor, only about five times bigger. 

I gasped, along with the rest of the first years, and pretty soon, we came to a cave in the cliffs that the school was built on. 

I jumped out of the boat and followed the crowd towards a door in the rock face. The giant knocked loudly on the door, and it was opened by a tall woman in square glasses. Her face was stern and her black hair pulled tightly into a bun. She wore emerald-green, sweeping robes that made her look somewhat regal. 

“The firs’-years, Professor McGonagall,”� the giant said. 

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here,”� she said imperiously, and we all followed her into a large entrance hall. 

The sound of chattering came from behind one of the doors leading from the hall. But Professor McGonagall led us away from it and into a small chamber to the right. We crowded in, where she explained something to us, but I can’t really remember what it was, since I wasn’t really listening to her. I mean, come on, she was a teacher. Okay a teacher with a title, but still ... 

Then, moments after she’d gone, about twenty ghosts glided through the walls of the chamber we were in. I glanced at them, looked away and then my eyes snapped back to the spectacle in front of me. I could hardly believe what I was seeing, I was that shocked. But eventually they left and Professor McGonagall came back. 

She led us into the door behind which the babbling voices came from. I realised this must be kind of like a dining hall; there were four tables full of students and another with people who I could only assume were teachers. A stool was placed in front of them and on it was a battered hat. Everyone in the hall watched it eagerly. I couldn’t imagine why until the next moment. 

A hole near the brim of the hat opened like a mouth and ... it began to _sing!_ I blinked in case I was hallucinating — it happens sometimes — but when I opened them again, it was still singing. I know what you’re thinking: “Yeah right, and if you look closely enough, there’s a pig flying past the window,”� but it’s true. The hat was really singing.

The next thing I knew, Professor McGonagall was calling out people’s names and they were stepping — or stumbling — forward to sit on the stool and put on the hat. 

Half way through the G's, I got bored of listening to the professor and my mind wandered, not that it takes that much. I gazed around me, watching people at the tables. A lot of them looked impatient; probably starving and tired. I hoped there was a feast sometime tonight. 

My train of thought was interrupted by a sudden outburst of whispering. I snapped back to the present, and saw that the black-haired, bespectacled boy was trying on the hat. I looked around me, and saw nearly everyone was craning forward in their seats to try and have a look at him. I wondered why; I mean, it wasn’t as if the boy was weird looking or extraordinary, he looked pretty normal to me. Except for the lightening bolt shaped scar on his forehead, of course. 

Anyway, the hat suddenly shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”� and, looking relieved, the boy — I never caught his name — hurried to the table on the far right, to be received by a loudly cheering crowd. He was getting the loudest cheer yet, funnily enough. 

Later it was my turn; Professor McGonagall shouted, “Zabini, Blaise,”� and I stepped forward confidently. I sat on the stool and put on the musical hat. 

The next second, a voice appeared in my ears. After all the weird things that had happened today, I barely even jumped. After all, if I can get onto a hidden platform by walking through a barrier, why can’t a hat talk to me? 

_“Ah,”�_ the hat said, “ _I remember Sorting your father. Nelson Zabini: what a troublemaker that boy was in his day._ ”� The hat chuckled, but I gripped the chair when he mentioned my dad’s name; I still hadn’t forgiven him for leaving me and my mom, and I probably won’t. 

_“I can see you’re still angry at him,”�_ the hat continued, _“but that’s a waste of energy, to be honest. Now, let’s see … you’re intelligent, oh, and cunning too, though you’re not always ready to give people a chance. And there’s a desire to make your mark at Hogwarts. Well, well — in that case you’ll be best suited in SLYTHERIN!”�_

I pulled the hat off, and slowly walked over to the table that was cheering. I noticed dimly that I was the last person to be placed in a house, but my mind was occupied by the hat’s last words. 

A man with a long, silver beard and hair stood up, and gazed around at us all. I knew before he opened his mouth, that he was the Headmaster. 

I don’t really remember what he said, because I was to busy thinking how hungry I was. Yes, I know I’m ignorant, but school has never held much excitement for me. I would’ve thought a magical school was a bit different, but I haven’t really been here that long, so I don’t have an opinion. 

All at once, the golden plates around me filled themselves with food. I stared, my jaw dropped, and I stupidly thought, _That wasn’t here a minute ago_. Not the most enlightening of thoughts, but I don’t care. The food looked absolutely scrumptious, and I was starving, so forget the criticism for a minute while I eat. 

After, the Headmaster stood up and talked to the school for about five minutes, while my eyelids became heavier and heavier, and I began to feel the exhaustion that comes with travelling all day. 

When we went to bed, I sank down on a large four poster, the hangings in silver and emerald green. To be honest, I didn’t care about the décor just then; I just pulled on my PJs, and climbed into bed, sinking back into the lovely soft pillows. 

The next moment I was dead to the world.


	4. The Slytherins

**Chapter 4**

**The Slytherins.**

I woke up the next morning, the sun shining in my eyes. I sat up and saw that I was the first one awake. There were three other girls in this dormitory; that Pansy Parkinson girl, a girl that looked like a pit bull and twice as ugly, and a girl with dark reddish hair, whose face I couldn’t see, since she was turned away from me. 

I jumped out of bed and got dressed, being especially quiet so as not to wake the others. Once I was ready, I went downstairs into a common room decorated much the same as our dormitories, minus the four-poster beds, of course. 

I heard a couple of people say something about breakfast, and then walk out of the common room through an exit in one of the walls. I followed them, since I had no idea where to go. And yes, I know, it wasn’t that long since I had my dinner last night, but travelling makes a girl twice as hungry. 

Soon, we reached the hall we were in last night, and I followed those other Slytherins to our table. Breakfast was already laid out, and I could see that I was going to like the food here. 

Just then, I was joined by a boy around my age. I could tell from the way he’d sauntered in that he thought he owned the place. I didn’t really look at him until he sat down next to me and said, “Hi,”� in this bored, lazy drawl, like talking was too much of an effort for him. I lifted my gaze and got my very first look at Draco Malfoy. 

His hair was blond, but it wasn’t a golden blond, or a dark blond, oh no; it was silvery. It matched his eyes, which, by the way, stared back at mine with casual disdain. Then of course, there was the thing attached to his arm ... oh, I’m _sorry_ , that was Pansy Parkinson. She was clinging to him so hard that she almost looked like she was glued to him for a moment. But there was no denying that Malfoy was _so_ much better looking than _she_ was. 

Pansy was chattering in simpering tones mindlessly, like she didn’t care if the earth was disintegrating around us, as long as she looked good enough for the end of the world. 

“Draco,”� she fluttered, batting her eyelashes at him, “what have we got first lesson?”� 

If that girl was any more stupid, you’d have to water her. 

“Oh, please,”� I muttered disgustedly. “I’m trying to eat here.”� 

“What’s your problem?”� Pansy snapped at me, while Malfoy looked amusingly surprised. 

I was ready to kick her Barbie-doll ass, but her boyfriend said, in a smooth tone of voice “Pansy, darling, go get my bag for me, would you?”� Though it was a question, it came out sounding more like a demand, yet Pansy, the stupid bitch, got up and actually did what he said! 

“You want to be more careful about what you say,”� Draco added to me, though he was regarding me with renewed interest. 

“What’re you going to do?”� I asked scathingly. “Looks like you’ve never messed that little blond head of yours up in your whole damn life.”� 

He blinked like he’d been slapped — not yet, but I was working on it — and then said, “I wasn’t trying to pick a fight.”� 

“Shame, I was trying to start one,”� I muttered, “with your little lap dog.”� 

“And who would that be?”� he asked, though he obviously knew who I was talking about. 

“The blonde. Miss Sweetness and fucking light.”� 

Draco was silent, pondering the new girl’s cheek — moi? — while I went on eating my breakfast. Pansy came back about two minutes later, looking between the pair of us. My face was probably flushed with anger, but by the look on her face, she thought we’d been doing something a lot less innocent than arguing. I was really pissed by now, and she didn’t help with my mood one bit. 

“Draco —”� she began, but he held up a silencing hand, and she shut that damn whining mouth of hers. 

“I’ll explain later,”� Draco said softly, and Pansy seemed happy with that. Stupid little lap dog. 

I stood up in disgust at Pansy’s lack of spine; I’d left half of my breakfast untouched but suddenly I’d lost my appetite. Especially since Pansy and Draco were now fooling around at the table. Man, if this is what all Slytherins are like, then I think I need to be moved to another house. 

I had just reached the doors into the Hall, when the girl with the reddish hair that I’d seen in the dormitory this morning saw me, and waved. Confused, since I didn’t even know her name yet, I waved back hesitantly. She grinned and walked over to me. 

“Hi,”� she said. “It’s Blaise right?”� 

“Yeah,”� I nodded. 

“I’m Lydia,”� she said, brushing her hair out of her eyes. Then her expression became one of disgust as she looked over my shoulder. 

“Urgh, they’re at it again!”� she spat, pointing, and I turned around to see what Lydia was looking at. 

Pansy and Draco sat, flirting away like crazy, while several people gave them disdainful glances and continued eating breakfast. 

I shuddered and turned back to Lydia. “Am I the only one who thinks that’s just wrong?”� I asked. 

“Tell me about it,”� Lydia rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t think Malfoy’s only eleven the way he acts around Pansy.”� 

“He’s such an ass,”� I agreed. I liked this girl; she seemed nice, but with an underlying wicked sense of humour. 

She laughed. “Anyway, good thing were in the same house. I’ve met Pansy and the other girl; Millicent Bulstrode. God what a bore she is. All she does is agree with Pansy every time she opens her bloody mouth. We can keep each other awake when they start talking,”� she added with a grin. 

I grinned too; so far it looked like life would never be boring at Hogwarts. 

I had no idea how right I was.


	5. Hoggy Warty Hogwarts

**Chapter 5**

**Hoggy Warty Hogwarts.**

My first year at Hogwarts passed fairly uneventfully. So did my second. Lydia and I had made two new friends, Gryffindors no less. Fred and George Weasley: even their name sounded disruptive. They were awesomely brilliant at pranking, and once Lydia and I became friends with them, they taught us a load of ways to get back at people we didn’t like. 

However, in the paradise that is Malfoy and Pansy, everything was all well there. Take note of the word paradise; you’ll get there in the end. 

Lydia and I were talking about it one night. 

“God look at them — they’re inseparable!”� Lydia muttered. “They’re like rabbits, they just don’t know when to stop!”� 

“She’s like a malignant growth,”� I added darkly, glaring at Pansy who looked like she was enjoying herself — and making everyone hurl their dinners back up. “She won’t leave him alone, for more than five seconds.”� 

“I heard from one of the Gryffindors that she’s got crabs,”� Lydia said loudly, causing Malfoy to pull away from Pansy, and get up to talk to us. 

“Why, hello, Draco,”� I said, in mock surprise. “What brings you to us? Our charming company?”� 

“Listen,”� Malfoy began in a quiet voice, “could you just stop saying stuff about Pansy? We all know it’s not true, and we all know it’s not funny.”� 

“How do you know it’s not true?”� Lydia asked unblushingly. “For all you know she could have crabs.”� 

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I’m not joking, it’s really upsetting Pansy and —”� 

“She can handle it,”� I shrugged. 

Malfoy sighed and rolled his eyes again, then stormed back over to Pansy. 

“Arsehole,”� Lydia muttered, and she was right, he was. 

The next day, after Transfiguration, we got caught trying to enchant a quill to keep stabbing itself at the back of Malfoy’s head. I suppose it would’ve been easy to tell who’d done it; only me and Lydia have a reputation for pulling pranks, and we were the only ones laughing. Well it was _funny_. 

“If you and Mr Malfoy have a problem,”� McGonagall said to us, in her severe tone of voice, looking sternly at us over her glasses, “then try to sort it out in a mature way.”� 

Who was she kidding? I’d seen her smiling when she saw Malfoy almost crying. 

“Yes professor,”� we said, pretending to be suitably ashamed and walked out. 

“What’s next on the agenda?”� I asked, as soon as we were out of earshot. 

“Hmm, let me think …”�Lydia said thoughtfully, going through a list in her head of the people we were going to prank today. “Oh yeah; Potter and his sidekicks.”� 

I grinned. Remember that boy everybody had cheered at the Sorting? Well, it turns out that he’s famous. His name’s Harry Potter and, boy, was he going to be pissed when we pulled a prank on him. I’ve got nothing against him, personally, but Fred and George made a bet with us that they’d trick more people than Lydia and I by Christmas. And since I’m not one to back down from a bet, and neither is Lydia, we agreed and now it’s on. 

“What are we going to do?”� I asked. I was a little low on ideas for pranks today. 

“Hmm …”� she murmured again, deep in thought. “I’m not sure. But it’s got to be good …”� 

I could see that we needed to think about this some more; real pranks take time and effort to pull off. 

Our next lesson was History of Magic. When I say it is _the_ most boring lesson in the history of the world, I am so not joking. Really, Professor Binns could bore anyone to death. I don’t know how he lives with himself, I really don’t. 

Anyway, despite being the most mundane lesson, it’s also pretty good for keeping up with gossip. Everyone’s always sending notes across the classroom; it’s the only thing that keeps us awake. Today was no exception; no sooner had I sat down and taken my stuff out of my bag, than Lydia tossed a folded piece of paper onto my desk. 

_Is it just me, or is Binns even more mind-numbing than usual?_

I turned the paper over and wrote: _Tell me about it! Any more ideas about the prank on Potter?_

I folded the paper over and waited until Binns’ back was turned and then discreetly passed it to Lydia. Out the corner of my eye I saw her read it and write a reply. 

Then she passed it back to me. _No, have to think about it some more. I think Malfoy’s going to try and get us back for the quill thing. I saw him sneaking around the common room, just now._

_I’d like to see him try!_ I wrote back. _He is such an arrogant little shit._

_Understatement of the century!_ came the reply. 

We went on like that for the rest of the lesson; just bitching and gossiping about everyone. Before I knew it, it was sixth lesson, and I was sitting, staring unseeingly at the board, where Professor Flitwick had written our notes. Nothing happened that lesson; at least, nothing exciting. Unless you count Flitwick falling off his chair again, and since he does it so often, I don’t. 

By the time dinner had finished, I was tired and I still didn’t have any idea for the prank. I went to the common room, my mind exhausted from trying a hundred different possibilities, but none of them seemed good enough. 

“Still not thought of anything?”� Lydia asked as she slumped down beside me in the common room. 

“No,”� I muttered glumly, and looked around at the other Slytherins, waiting for a flash of inspiration. Like that would ever happen. They were Slytherins; incapable of any kind of inspiration. 

“Well, I’ll think about all night now,”� Lydia said, discouraged. “I won’t get any sleep, probably.”� 

“Just skive off lessons tomorrow then,”� I reasoned. Only a few years in England and already I was using their turns of phrase. 

“Yeah, I think I might,”� she shrugged, and turned to see Malfoy heading towards us, looking menacing. Well, trying to look menacing; he wasn’t really pulling it off all that well. 

“What now?”� Lydia asked, before he’d even opened his mouth. 

“Listen bitch,”� Malfoy spat, “just stop trying to make me look like a prat!”� 

Lydia exchanged glances with me, then I looked back at Malfoy. 

“We’re not trying to make you look like a prat,”� I said coolly. “You’re doing just fine by yourself.”� 

 

Malfoy turned red with rage. “You — you —”� He couldn’t seem to find the words to say, which was a surprise, I can tell you. 

“Just fuck off Malfoy,”� Lydia said bluntly. “Go back to little Barbie arse over there.”� She pointed at Pansy, who was sat in front of the fire, flirting with a seventh year. 

“I swear to God,”� Malfoy hissed, “if you ever say or do anything to me again, I’ll make sure you won’t live to see next year!”� 

“Ooh,”� I said sarcastically. “I’m quivering in my shoes.”� 

“Come off it,”� Lydia said, rolling her eyes. “Who’re you trying to kid with that tough guy act? ‘Cause let me tell you, it’s not working.”� 

Malfoy decided to go for the dignified exit, only that didn’t work because, when his back was turned, I waved my wand and magically tripped him up. He landed, sprawled across the floor, that head of perfect blond hair messed up. Lydia and I burst out laughing. Hurriedly standing up, he threw one last glare in our direction, smoothing his hair down and flouncing away, back to Pansy. 

That night when I went to bed, it hit me. I knew the perfect prank to pull on Potter; but it needed some work and I fell asleep still thinking about it.


	6. When Pranks go Really Wrong

**Chapter 6**

**When Pranks Go Really Wrong/**

It was so simple, yet so unexpected, that it was no surprise it had taken me so long to come up with it. Of course, Lydia and I needed the expert help of Fred and George, without them knowing it. The first thing to do was to ask them, in a roundabout kind of way, the best way to charm stuff like clothes, paper, or sweets. They were suspicious, but I think we managed to convince them that we just wanted to know. 

The next thing was to get a box of sweets. Like Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, for example. Then we put a charm on them, and left them somewhere where we knew Potter would find them. 

The charm on the sweets? You’ll see. 

Lydia and I hid behind a stone statue in a corridor that we knew Potter and his friends were going to walk along, and waited for the fun to start. The Every Flavour Beans were randomly placed at the bottom of the stairs ahead of us, looking so innocently appetizing that I could’ve just picked them up and eaten them. But I knew what had happened to them. 

It was the perfect plan: charm some sweets that would make Potter and his groupies become the embodiment of sin, and watch them in action for a few hours, until the charm wore off. But, oh no. Of course, it wouldn’t go to plan now, would it? 

There _was_ someone coming up the corridor, muttering to themselves incoherently. But it wasn’t Potter. 

It was Filch. 

Filch is the caretaker, and what a mean old git he is too. He holds a personal grudge against every student in Hogwarts, and his mangy cat, whom he calls Mrs Norris, follows you about everywhere, until Filch appears, gasping for breath, behind you. 

He saw the red bag of Beans, and glared at them suspiciously for a few moments, before picking them up. It was quite funny, actually, to see old Filch looking into the bag cautiously, as though it was about to explode. 

But then, horror of horrors, he reached into the bag and pulled a Bean out. It was pink. 

_Oh, shit ..._

You see, the charm we put on them was a seven deadly sin kind of charm. You eat one, and you become the epitome of that sin for a few hours. We gave them different colours so we knew which was which. Black for pride; red for rage; grey for avarice; blue for sloth; green for envy; yellow for gluttony. And pink ... well, pink for lust. 

I looked at Lydia and tried hard not to laugh. The thought of Filch running around under the influence of lust was just too funny. But we couldn’t let it happen. I mean, okay if it had been Potter and his friends, then we would’ve left them to it. But Filch is a member of Hogwarts staff and whatever happens to him, the other teachers are going to know about it. And me and Lydia aren’t exactly innocent, now, are we? 

So we came from behind the statue and hurried over to Filch, but it was too late; he’d already eaten the Bean. The only hope we had was that, because this was the first time we’d used them, they wouldn’t work. 

_Please don’t work_ , I thought, _please..._

“What do you want?”� Filch asked brusquely, staring at us in loathing. 

“Well ... um — we ...”� Lydia stammered, but she couldn’t seem to get the words out. 

“Yerse?”� Filch said sarcastically. “Wouldn’t happen to be hiding Dungbombs in your pockets, would you?”� 

“No!”� I protested, far too quickly, so that it sounded as if we were guilty. 

Filch sneered, and was just about to say something, when a voice behind him said: “Is there a problem here?”� 

Filch, Lydia and I all turned to see who it was. There stood Professor McGonagall, her expression one of mild curiosity. 

“No, no Professor,”� Filch said quickly. “I was just about to confiscate this bag of sweets from these two.”� He jerked his head at us. 

“Argus,”� McGonagall said, in a tone of great weariness, “may I ask why you are going to confiscate something as harmless as Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans?”� 

“I have reason to believe these are enchanted Professor,”� Filch said in a greasy voice. 

“Bull!”� I said, before I could stop myself. Lydia nudged me as McGonagall turned her attention to me. 

“Perhaps we should continue this discussion in my office?”� she said coldly and swept off in the opposite direction. 

With Filch behind us, we followed her. There, she stared long and hard at me and Lydia for a few minutes. She was just about to say something when Filch suddenly burst out with: “May I say, Professor, that you are looking enchantingly lovely today?”� 

There was a long silence, while McGonagall looked at Filch in disbelief. I glanced at Lydia in horror. Oh god what have we done? 

“W-why thank you Argus,”� McGonagall said hesitantly, “but this is hardly the time for ... compliments.”� 

“But Minerva,”� Filch protested, “why deny yourself? You know you want me.”� 

And he approached her, took her hand and kissed it. 

McGonagall looked like she was about to have a heart attack. “GET OUT!”� she shrieked at Filch, who, with a last parting kiss — this time on her cheek — retreated from her office. 

McGonagall sank down into the chair behind her desk, and took several deep breaths. As for me and Lydia, well, neither of us had ever seen a more disgusting sight. I mean, Filch is ... just gross. Even the air around him feels polluted. To see him kissing McGonagall was nauseating. 

“Would either of you two like to explain that to me?”� McGonagall said weakly. 

So we explained our plan to let Potter eat the Beans, and how Filch had come along and ruined it. McGonagall listened to us, without interrupting, until we’d finished. 

“I see,”� she said eventually. “I must say that was one of the worst experiences of my life.”� She shuddered then continued. “Now, I will not confiscate those sweets on the condition that you never ever use them again. Ever. Understand?”� 

We nodded; there wasn’t much else we could do, not with McGonagall looking so unusually horrified. 

Five minutes later, we left her office silently. She was still looking ill when we left. I got the feeling she was going to burn the robes she was in, and try to put the incident behind her. 

That night, I put my hand in my pocket, and found the Beans there. I pulled them out, looked at them for a few minutes, wondering what it would’ve been like if Potter had eaten them; then I shoved them to the bottom of my trunk, and didn’t take them back out until a few years later.


	7. Christmas Holidays

**Chapter 7**

**Christmas Holidays.**

In my first and second years, I’d gone back to Izzy and George’s house for Christmas. My third year was no exception. I was to meet them at King’s Cross Station again, and they were going to take me to theirs for two weeks for a proper Christmas. I should have known something was up when I received a letter from them.

_Dear Blaise_ , it said.

_We can’t wait to see you; only a few more days until we do! We have a special surprise for you this Christmas, but don’t worry, that’s not your only present! Don’t get into anymore trouble; you’ve been in quite enough._

_Love George & Izzy._

I was touched at their words, and it only made me want to see them even more. And it got me thinking: what was this special surprise? I have to admit, it didn’t occur to me, even then, what it could be. It seemed so obvious when I went to George and Izzy’s. 

Nearer Christmas, Malfoy and Pansy seemed to have cooled off. That is, Malfoy was too preoccupied with trying to get our Care of Magical Creatures professor fired, to pay any attention to Pansy. You remember that gigantic guy at the beginning of my first year? Well, he’s the Care of Magical Creatures Professor, believe it or not. He was quite a good teacher, until Malfoy got injured by a Hippogriff and made it his job to see Hagrid get sacked. It wasn’t Hagrid’s fault; Malfoy wasn’t listening when Hagrid told the class that Hippogriffs are proud and don’t like to be insulted. So what did Malfoy do? He called the Hippogriff an ‘ugly great brute.’ And the funniest thing about it, was that Malfoy screamed like a girl. It still makes me laugh. 

Anyway, mine and Lydia’s taste for pranking had certainly been diminished since the Bean incident. We’d let up with the tricks and stuff for a while but we both knew we’d start it up again; it was just too fun to give up. 

So at the end of term, I left Hogwarts for Kensington Manor, to see George and Izzy again. At King’s Cross, I spotted them from the train window, and I couldn’t wait for the train to stop. 

When I got off the Hogwarts Express, I hurried over to them, through the very first snowflakes of the holidays. They really did look happy to see me, even if they were shivering in the freezing cold. 

We went quickly to their house; I was shaking in anticipation for this special surprise George and Izzy had planned for me. As I went through the front doors of the manor, I stopped halfway, frozen in shock. 

Because there, standing at the bottom of the grand staircase, was my grandmother. 

“Oh, my God!”� I shrieked as I ran over to her. “Grandma!”� 

And I hugged her for the first time in nearly three years. 

“Blaise,”� she said softly, and she hugged me tightly back. 

She looked great, better than when I’d been back in America with her. She held me at arm’s length so she could look at me properly. 

“Oh, you look so different,”� she said smiling, “much older. But you still have that same smile. Oh, Blaise, I’ve missed you so much!”� she added and hugged me again. 

That night was a cheerful reunion, with so much smiling and laughing and happiness. My grandma wanted to know everything about Hogwarts, about my friends and the kind of stuff we did, so she bombarded me with questions. I didn’t mind; I was happy to answer them. I was so glad to see her. 

When I went to bed that night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about my mother for some reason. About how bad my life had been when she’d been alive, and how good it was now. Maybe it was because I was seeing my grandma again, that brought all these thoughts to the surface of my mind. 

Before I knew it, I was dozing off, looking out at the quiet grounds, my eyelids slowly closing until I was asleep.

***

For the rest of the holidays, until Christmas, me and my grandma talked nearly every day. I listened to what had happened after I’d left for Hogwarts, and I told her about everything that had happened to me while I was at school, including all the stand-offs with Malfoy.

When I told her about it, she gave a small, knowing smile. 

“What?”� I asked curiously. 

“Nothing,”� she said, waving her hand as if to prove it really was nothing. 

“No really,”� I persisted, “what?”� 

“I’ll tell you some other time,”� my grandma said. “Now tell me more about this Lydia.”� 

She certainly sidetracked me with that; Lydia was my best friend, and I was eager to talk about her. 

On Christmas day, I woke up at about six ‘o’ clock, the earliest I’ve ever gotten up on a Christmas day. So I waited a while, until I heard everybody else get up, and then I hurtled down the stairs to my presents under the Christmas tree. 

George and Izzy gave me a lot of presents, including a new eagle feather quill, boxes of sweets, and some books on magic, and similar. My grandma then handed me a large box. It was quite heavy and it had holes in the lid, so whatever was inside it was alive. 

Cautiously, I lifted the lid and took a look. Inside, curled in a ball, was a tiny, black kitten. It looked up at me with green eyes and mewed loudly. 

“Oh, he’s so cute!”� I gushed, and gently lifted him out. He began to purr softly as I stroked his jet black fur. 

“I figured you’d like a pet,”� my grandma said. “He doesn’t deliver mail like an owl, but I know how you liked cats, so I got you one. I hope you like him.”� 

“I do, he’s adorable,”� I said, and smiled. 

“What are you going to call him?”� Izzy asked. 

“I don’t know,”� I said thoughtfully, and looked down at my little kitten. 

“How about Shadow?”� I suggested, looking at his smoky black fur. 

The kitten seemed to like it, because he suddenly meowed and tumbled from my arms. He stayed where he was for a moment then sat up, and looked around inquisitively. I laughed, and watched him scamper around the room for a few minutes, before he settled on some discarded wrapping paper and went to sleep. 

Then my eye caught sight of another box-shaped present right underneath the tree. It was wrapped in ordinary, brown paper, and tied with string. That was what made it look so interesting; the fact that it looked so ordinary. 

I reached over and picked it up. There was a small white tag attached to it, and I flipped it over to read what was on it.

_To Blaise, love Dad._

“Oh,”� I said blankly. 

“Blaise?”� George asked. “What’s up?”� 

“This present,”� I said slowly, “it’s from ... from my dad.”� 

“What?”� my grandma said quickly, and whipped the present from my hands to look at the tag. Then she threw it back at me, and said in a tight voice, “Aren’t you going to open it?”� 

I began to, untying the string and removing the brown paper until only the box was left. With trembling hands, I slowly lifted the lid ... 

Inside was a silver bracelet with a tear-shaped blue gem set in silver. It was very pretty, and I was tempted to take it out of the box and put it on. 

But then a hot surge of anger coursed through me. How dare my father, the man who left my mom on the night before their wedding, the man who I’ve never seen in my whole damn life, send me a present when I don’t even know what he looks like or where he is? 

“It’s nice,”� my grandma said grudgingly. “Very nice.”� 

“Yeah,”� I said with a sarcastic laugh, “it’s nice. It doesn’t erase the past thirteen years of not seeing him, but it’s nice!”� 

“Blaise,”� George said quietly, “I think you should give Nelson a chance. He’s obviously trying to make up for everything he’s done.”� 

“Well you know something?”� I asked him heatedly. “He can fuck off! He left my mom, he’s never been to see me, he’s never talked to me! He doesn’t give a shit about me. This is all some sick prank to ease his guilty conscience!”� 

There was a silence; my grandma was sat in an armchair, her face pale and drawn. Izzy and George sat side by side, holding hands. 

“Thank you for a great Christmas,”� I said to them. “Really it was the best. Can I go to my room?”� 

They nodded, and I rushed upstairs to my room. 

I threw myself on the bed, tears of rage in my eyes, and cried for a while. Once the sobs had subsided, I got up and opened the balcony doors, and stood on the balcony, watching the snowflakes fall from a leaden sky. The grounds were under a thick blanket of cold snow, and looked even more peaceful than ever. It was cold, but I barely felt it, the anger I felt towards my dad was still coursing hotly through my veins, warding off the cold more effectively than a cloak. I couldn’t believe my father had the nerve to try to give me a Christmas present, when he’d missed twelve of them already. And okay, maybe I didn’t love my mom, but at least she stuck around to raise me, even if she didn’t do it too well. 

Just then, the door opened, slowly, and Izzy’s face appeared around it. 

“I thought you might want Shadow,”� she said quietly. “For some company.”� 

And in came Shadow, scurrying over to me, then rubbing against my ankles and purring. 

“And Blaise?”� Izzy added, “I know how you must feel about your dad, but don’t be too hard on him if he ever comes to see you. He’s only trying to make up for the mistakes he’s made.”� 

She closed the door softly before I could say anything, leaving me in my cold dark room with only a kitten for company.


	8. Third Year

**Chapter 8**

**Third Year**

So that was my Christmas. I suppose it was easy for me to think badly of my dad, but I didn’t know the whole story did I? I only knew what my grandma had told me, and well, let’s face it, that was a little biased. 

I’m beginning to think that maybe my dad just couldn’t live with my mom. Or he wasn’t ready to get married. Maybe I wasn’t his daughter and he couldn’t marry my mom knowing that he would have to look after someone else’s child. Or maybe he was just an insensitive jerk. I don’t know anymore. But I have started wearing the bracelet he sent me. 

Now I’m back at school for another term, and so far Lydia and I have infuriated Malfoy and Pansy more times than I can count. We’ve also started our pranks again, only we still haven’t used the rest of those Beans. 

So far at Hogwarts, nothing out of the ordinary has happened, unlike the last two years. In first year, it wasn’t actually that strange and unusual by this time of year; everything was as it should be. All I know was that, at the end of the year there was some incident involving Potter, his friends and You-Know-Who. In fact Potter did such a good job of stopping the Dark Lord from coming to power that Dumbledore decided to give Gryffindor an extra hundred and seventy points, which beat Slytherin in the House Cup. Malfoy was really pissed about that; so were the rest of the Slytherins, except for me and Lydia. If I’m honest, I think this inter-house rivalry is dumb. But who am I to spoil traditions? 

In second year, several people — oh, and a cat — were Petrified, including one of Potter’s friends. Again, at the end of the year, Potter was responsible for something — nobody really knows what — that made Gryffindor win the House Cup for a second time. He’s a regular little hero, Potter. I think he has a complex. 

Anyway, that’s my annual reviews for my first two years at Hogwarts. Compared to my first and second year, this third year seems unbearably dull. 

There also seems to be a tradition of getting a new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor every year. Why? I’m not sure, but last year’s had a memory problem and he had to leave. Not that I care; he was a bit of a prat anyway, totally full of himself because he’d sold a few books. This year’s, Professor Lupin, is probably the best, although none of the other Slytherins have anything good to say about him. I can’t see why; he seems okay to me. 

I’ve also noticed something else: a lot of people who seemed inseparable last year — namely Malfoy and Pansy, who were attached from the waist upwards — aren’t always together now. I mean, me and Lydia are inseparable because we’re best friends. Malfoy and Pansy don’t seem as infatuated with each other as they did before. It could be a good thing because, annoying as Malfoy is, he’s kind of cute and it’s such a waste to see him locking lips with Pansy. 

You know that bet Lydia and I made with Fred and George? Well, it turns out they won. Yeah, I wish we’d won, but I guess you can’t compete with the masters, can you? 

So now, after the excitement of Christmas, everything seems sort of quiet and boring. Lessons are just the same, especially History of Magic. God, I swear, if it wasn’t for the fact that I’d promised George, Izzy and my grandma I would try to stay out of trouble, then I’d cause absolute mayhem in Binns’ class. At least I don’t have History of Magic today. 

I brought Shadow with me to school, and so far, nearly every girl in Slytherin thinks he’s adorable. I feel strangely proud of my kitten, and I think he knows it, because whenever someone comes over to see him, he starts to show off and only ends up falling off the sofa or tumbling across the carpet. Then he gets the cutest expression on his face, like he can’t believe he fell over, but he likes it all the same. Listen to me; babbling on about my cat like it’s a baby. I must be going crazy. 

Anyway, there seems to be something weird going on. There are teachers running around with grim looks on their faces. Except Snape; he seems over the moon about something. Or at least, he did before Christmas. If I’d heard any rumours about it, I might try to find more out about it. As it is, there doesn’t seem to be anything really interesting about it. I mean, so the teachers are tense. So what? Aren’t they always? Still, it was unusual to see Snape with a smile on his face; and it disturbed anyone who saw it. 

Later that year, around June, before the Quidditch final between Slytherin and Gryffindor, I was sat in the common room, waiting for Lydia to come back from detention with Flitwick, when Malfoy sat down on the sofa beside me. He seemed troubled, so I left him alone for a change. 

But every so often he would sigh heavily and tap his fingers on the arm of the sofa. After he did this two or three times, I turned to him. 

“What?”� I snapped. 

“Sorry?”� he asked innocently, but behind his indifferent expression there was a glimmer of something very much like panic. 

“You keep sighing and tapping the arm of the chair,”� I told him. “What’s wrong with you?”� 

“Nothing ...”� he trailed off, and I clicked. He was worried about the Quidditch match. 

“Quidditch?”� I asked him abruptly, because I was curious why Malfoy would be anxious about a game. 

“Well ...”� he said hesitantly, “yeah. And Pansy is wandering around shouting all sorts of stuff about me. She’s getting a load of laughs from the seventh years right now.”� 

As if on cue, a loud burst of laughter erupted from the group of boys around the fire; Pansy was in the thick of it, looking triumphant at their amusement. It made me sick. 

“Why don’t you do the same? Spread it around that she’s just a rampant little whore.”� 

He looked surprised that the solution was so obvious, and he grinned at my choice of words. Why I was sharing this tip with someone I couldn’t stand, I don’t know. But if it annoyed Pansy, it was probably worth it. 

“Good idea,”� Malfoy nodded thoughtfully, “but Pansy’s not the only problem. This Quidditch match. I ...”� But he stopped suddenly, and blushed as though he’d been on the verge of revealing something he was ashamed of. 

“No, what?”� I asked curiously, wondering what Malfoy was so embarrassed about. 

“It’s just ... I’m worried, Blaise,”� he admitted. “The whole Quidditch tournament is riding on this match. And Slytherin haven’t beat Gryffindor since bloody Potter joined their team.”� 

“What made you tell me?”� I asked bluntly. “I mean, couldn’t you have confided in someone else?”� 

“They’d probably laugh at me,”� Malfoy said, but there was no trace of self-pity in his voice; it was more like a statement than an exaggeration. 

“What makes you think I wouldn’t?”� I asked, but I lacked conviction. 

“You laugh at me even when I’m not worried about Quidditch,”� he said, standing up and giving this strange, self-mocking, half smile. 

He began to walk away, and I would’ve let him if I hadn’t just realised something. 

“Hey Malfoy!”� I said loudly. 

He turned. “Yeah?”� he said. 

“Did we just manage to have a conversation?”� I asked. 

“I think we did,”� he said, a grin appearing on his face. “Imagine that”� 

“I’m as surprised as you are.”� 

“I wasn’t surprised,”� Malfoy said simply and quickly walked away, leaving me to work out what he really meant. 

Okay, I’ll admit it; Malfoy isn’t a complete, one hundred percent, total smarmy git. He’s only ninety-nine percent smarmy, and one percent decent human being.

***

On the day of the Quidditch match, I have to say I felt really bad for Malfoy; he looked like he was going to puke. And he wasn’t his usual arrogant self; he was more subdued than I’ve ever seen him.

I had the weirdest — and frankly creepiest — urge to wish him good luck, but if I said it right now at the Slytherin table, I’d lose all the credibility I had. So I waited for him to get up and leave the Great Hall, muttered an excuse to Lydia next to me, and followed Malfoy out into the Entrance Hall. 

He heard my footsteps before I had a chance to say anything, and he came back down the stairs he’d just begun to walk up. 

“Hi,”� I said, trying to look as though I hadn’t been following him. 

“Hello,”� he said. There was an awkward silence. 

“Um ... good luck for the Quidditch match,”� I eventually said, wondering why I was so uncomfortable all of a sudden. 

“Thanks,”� he said glumly, his face turning a pale shade of green at the very thought. 

“Right, well ... 'bye,”� I said, and turned to go. 

“Yeah, 'bye,”� he murmured distractedly, and wandered out of the Entrance Hall in the direction of the Quidditch Pitch. 

When the rest of the school eventually went down the pitch, too, the teams were only just coming out of the changing rooms. The applause for the Slytherins was mainly drowned out by a huge round of applause for the Gryffindor team, from the other three houses. 

I like Quidditch, and it _is_ exciting, but some people take it too seriously. At the end of the day, it’s just a game and we have another chance the next year. Then again I probably feel that way because I’m not much of a sports fan. 

When the game was underway, I actually felt the tension in the air whenever a team scored. I was even caught up in the thrill of the match. The Slytherins weren’t playing exactly fair. I felt quite proud whenever they fouled the Gryffindors; just because they’re better at Quidditch, doesn’t mean they can’t be injured. 

But Potter managed to pull off a spectacular capture of the Snitch. Again. Man, were the Slytherins pissed off by that. And Malfoy wasn’t going to be anybody’s favourite person in the common room tonight. Damn shame. 

Ha, yeah right.


	9. The Triwizard Tournament

**Chapter 9**

**The Triwizard Tournament.**

So that was my third-year. Pretty dull, don’t you think? Still, when we went back for our fourth-year, it more than made up for a previous year that was duller than Pansy’s personality. 

You could tell something was up once we were seated in the Great Hall for the start-of-term feast. The teachers were looking extremely smug about something, and even the Hufflepuffs had noticed something was going to happen. They never usually notice a damn thing. 

Sure enough, when the Sorting was over, Dumbledore stood up, causing the chatter to stop almost at once. He gave his usual introduction of the year, about the stuff Filch has forbidden students to use, about the Forbidden Forest and entrance to Hogsmeade. 

Then he made the second-most shocking announcement of the night. 

“It is also my painful duty to inform you that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.”� 

The Slytherin Quidditch team weren’t the only people that were upset by this news; many people around the hall were whispering in outrage and shock. 

“This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers’ time and energy — but I am sure you will enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts —”� 

Suddenly the crashes of thunder became louder, and the doors to the Great Hall were flung open. There was a figure standing in the doorway, with a long staff, and wearing a black cloak. Everybody around me, and at the other tables, turned their heads to look at the newcomer. A flash of lightning illuminated the man’s face. 

Nearly everybody gasped. 

His face was scarred; horribly and completely. A chunk of his nose was missing, and his mouth was just a line in his face. His eyes were the creepiest thing I have ever seen; one was small and black, but the other was round and vivid blue. It kept rolling around in its socket, until it disappeared into the back of his head. 

When this person reached the High Table, he shook hands with Dumbledore, then took a seat on the Headmaster’s right-hand side. Once the stranger had made himself comfortable, Dumbledore introduced him as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Moody. After this pronouncement, the Headmaster was the only one clapping. Instead of the usual polite applause, there was just an aching void of silence as we stared, transfixed by Moody. But he either didn’t seem to notice, or he just didn’t care. I can imagine someone like him always gets people staring at him wherever he goes. 

“As I was saying,”� Dumbledore said, after clearing his throat, “we are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event which has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.”� 

Then a voice I recognised to Fred Weasley’s shouted, “You’re JOKING!”� 

Everyone laughed at that, even some of the teachers, though you could see McGonagall looking very disapproving. 

Once the laughter had died down, Dumbledore continued, saying, “Some of you will not know what this Tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely.”� 

So then he went on to explain what the Triwizard Tournament was about. Basically, it's a year long competition between three schools: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. A student is selected from each school to be their school’s champion and they have to do three separate tasks. But apparently a rising death toll — excuse me? — discontinued the tournament. 

“... Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts,”� Dumbledore said, “the Heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age — that is to say, seventeen years or older — will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration.”� 

There was another outburst of chatter at that point, but it was tinged with indignation. Dumbledore must’ve gotten the gist of the conversations, and explained that it was _for our own safety_ , which didn’t seem to help the angry muttering at all. 

Then Dumbledore told us when the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would arrive, and then it was time for bed. 

As I stood up, talk of the Tournament was on everybody’s lips. By the sound of it, most didn’t care whether it was dangerous or difficult; they just wanted Hogwarts to win. Which brought up the subject of who would be champion for Hogwarts. Someone had apparently heard from the Hufflepuffs that their team’s Seeker was going to put his name forward. This caused even more outrage because, apparently, he’s a pretty boy. 

So that night, when I eventually fell asleep, I wondered what it’d be like to be Hogwarts champion. Not that I would ever find out; I’m not seventeen, and I think dangerous and difficult qualifies as an excuse not to put my name forward. Although it might be fun anyway.

***

When October came around, the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had been there for a while already, and it was time for the champions to be selected. You could almost taste the excitement in the air. From the looks on everyone’s faces, they couldn’t wait to see who would become the three champions.

Once dinner was over, Dumbledore gave a few words about the judges of the Tournament, then when the Hall was deathly silent, he smiled, gestured, and Filch brought in a wooden chest, encrusted with jewels, that looked extremely old. 

“... There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways ... their magical prowess — their daring — their powers of deduction — and, of course, their ability to cope with danger. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector ... the Goblet of Fire.”� 

Dumbledore tapped the lid of the chest with his wand three times and with a long creak, it slowly opened. The Headmaster pulled out a cup made of wood. There was nothing unusual about the cup itself, more what was inside it. Dancing, blue-white flames flickered in the darkened Hall from the brim of the wooden cup. 

_Goblet of Fire_ , I mused, _nice name_. 

“Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment, and drop it into the Goblet,”� Dumbledore said. “Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the Goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools.”� 

Dumbledore began to issue a warning about entering the tournament, and that the Goblet was going to be stationed in the Entrance Hall. I kind of stopped listening because, well, it didn’t really concern me. 

There was even more excited chatter that night as everyone left the Hall for bed. So many seventh-years were boasting loudly to their friends that they were going to put their names forward. But I bet none of them do; they’re all talk and no action.

***

The next day, all anyone could talk about was the Tournament. The question was, who would be Hogwarts champion? Most people seemed to think it would be that Hufflepuff, Diggory. Me? Well, I heard a rumour that some of the older Slytherins had put their names in the Goblet, so I’ll show my true house pride and support them. Maybe.

So, once we were seated again in the Great Hall, and everyone had finished dinner, Dumbledore stood up again. 

“Well, the Goblet is almost ready to make its decision,”� he said. “I estimate that it requires one more minute.”� 

Dumbledore then explained that the selected champions were to go through the door behind the High Table where they were to receive their first instructions. He waved his wand and all the lights were extinguished; only the Goblet was alight and shone brightly in the darkness. 

Then its blue-white flames turned red and sparks flew from it. Then a flame shot into the air, and a piece of charred parchment came from it. Dumbledore took the parchment and read what was on it. 

“The champion for Durmstrang,”� he said, “will be Viktor Krum.”� 

Cheers and applause rang through the Hall, as a moody looking git got up from our table and sauntered along into the chamber next to the Great Hall. 

Through the Durmstrang cheers and the mumblings of the rest of the school, you could hear Karkaroff shouting, in as loud a voice as possible, that he’d always known Krum would be selected as champion. Karkaroff is a slimy bastard; you should see him fawning over the judges, just for shot at winning the tournament. 

The flames in the Goblet had turned red again, and another piece of parchment flew from it. Dumbledore read what was on it again. 

“The champion for Beauxbatons,”� he said, “is Fleur Delacour!”� 

Another wave of applause echoed through the Great Hall, although some of the other girls from Beauxbatons were sobbing heavily. 

Fleur Delacour is a self-obsessed bitch; she’s pretty and boy does she know it. Someone said she’s part Veela, and they’re probably right; from all the pictures I’ve seen of Veelas, they’re stunningly beautiful, with silvery hair and a sort of ethereal glow about them. Fleur Delacour has all those things, the stupid cow, though she doesn't deserve them. 

For a third time, the flames of the Goblet became red, and the third and final piece of parchment came out of it. Once again, Dumbledore read what was on it. 

“The Hogwarts champion,”� he said, while everyone in the Hall waited with bated breath, “is Cedric Diggory!”� 

Oh, for crying out loud! That stupid pretty-boy, Hogwarts champion? Well, that’s it isn’t it? We’re going to lose. 

Dumbledore was addressing the school cheerfully, when the flames of the Goblet of Fire, unexpectedly, turned red, once more. 

There was instant silence; everybody knew that only three people were supposed to be chosen, and we all wondered who had managed to hoodwink the Goblet after all. 

Another piece of parchment shot out and Dumbledore seized it; then he looked at it for a long time, before clearing his throat and saying: 

“Harry Potter.”� 

Whoa, this wasn’t supposed to happen! And you can just tell by the looks on the teachers’ faces that they didn’t expect this either. How could a fourth-year Gryffindor hoodwink the ‘impartial selector’ that apparently couldn’t be fooled? 

So now, everybody is whispering loudly, and from my seat at the Slytherin table, I can see Potter, and he looks just as surprised as everyone else. Unless he's a really good actor, it doesn't seem as though he's done it; still, you never know with Gryffindor heroes. 

Dumbledore conferred with McGonagall for a few minutes, both of their faces serious and somewhat anxious. Then he called Potter's name again, and Potter stood, stumbling slightly as he did so, going into the chamber just off the Great Hall. 

You should’ve heard the excited chatter after he’d gone. It was louder than ever, and several people wore faces of surprise, or indignation, or an expression that suggested they thought Potter was just looking for more attention. I don't think that's necessarily true, because he looked genuinely stunned when his name came out of the Goblet. I'd like to say that a fourth-year doesn't know how to do big magic like that, but at Hogwarts, there's always been talk about Potter being as powerful as You-Know-Who was before he fell, so maybe he did put his name in. Either way, he's in big trouble. 

As the rest of the school stood up and went up to their dormitories, and the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students went out to the grounds back to their ship and their carriage thing, I wondered exactly how much trouble Potter was in. He was in deep shit if you ask me, but maybe Dumbledore will believe him if he says he didn’t do it. Dumbledore’s cool that way; he gives you a chance to explain and if it’s reasonable enough, then you’re off the hook. Why d’you think I haven’t been expelled yet?


	10. To Blaise, With Love

**Chapter 10**

**To Blaise With Love.**

Guess what? Potter got away with it. He’s officially Hogwarts second champion. Personally, I’ll be cheering for him, rather than Diggory, like Malfoy is. At least Potter got past that dragon with some style; he didn’t get burnt, like Diggory did. 

There’s another bit of excitement coming before Christmas; apparently, there’s something called the Yule Ball that’s a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament. So that’s what the dress robes are for. When I asked Izzy why I had some fancy-looking robes for fourth year, she said she had no idea and that they were on my supplies list. I wonder who I’ll get asked by... 

Okay, that was scary. I was just thinking about my date — if I get asked that is — when Malfoy’s face flashed through my mind. Oh god, now I feel sick. I mean, Malfoy? I must be coming down with something. 

Lydia has already been asked; hell, the minute we found out about the Yule Ball, someone came over and asked her. So I’m just waiting for someone to ask me; however, if it gets too late and still I’m partner-less, then I’ll ask someone. 

“Hey Blaise?”� a voice said, snapping me back to the present. 

“Oh, hi Alan,”� I said, smiling at the guy in front of me. 

Alan Bole is a very cute Slytherin sixth year; all dark hair and soulful eyes. You know the type. I suppose he’s kind of conceited, but then most of the Slytherins are; it’s all part and parcel of being a Slytherin. 

“How are you?”� he asked, sitting down next to me. 

I looked at Lydia and she gave me a knowing smile; then she got up and went to talk to her own date. 

I turned back to Alan, and smiled again. 

“I’m fine. You?”� I asked. 

“Yeah, I’m good.”� He paused then continued with, “Want to go to the Ball with me?”� 

I thought about it, figuring it wouldn’t do any harm. After all, it’s not like anyone else has asked me. Besides, being on Alan’s arm would annoy Pansy; she’d been after him for a whole month now, the whore, and here I do nothing and still manage to get a date with him. 

“Sure,”� I said. 

“Ok. See you there,”� he grinned and stood up. 

Well, that wasn’t so hard, I thought, as I watched him go back to his friends. 

“Did he ask you?”� Lydia’s voice broke through my thoughts. 

“Yeah, he did,”� I replied. 

“Oh, that’s great!”� she said, and hugged me elatedly. 

“You seem more excited about it than I am,”� I said jokingly. 

“Just wait until the night of the Ball,”� she said. “You’ll be pretty excited yourself.”� 

“I can’t wait,”� I said, and I was only lying a little.

***

So it was the night of the Yule Ball, and Lydia was right; I was pretty excited. In the dormitory, Lydia, Pansy, Millicent and I were all still getting ready. Lydia was in midnight blue robes, and she looked really pretty. Next to her, over by her own bed, Pansy was wearing frilly, pale pink dress robes that made her look like a big, pink meringue. Millicent was in pale green, which did nothing for her; I wanted to tell her that she looked awful, but I didn’t have the heart.

As for me, well, my dress robes were a pearly, cream colour that shimmered whenever I moved. I decided to wear my hair up in a chignon, which I pulled off pretty successfully, if I do say so myself. 

Once we were ready, we went down to the common room, where I met Alan. He looked at me in surprise when I went over to him, and all his mates stared too. Well, that boosted my confidence a fair bit, I must say. 

“Hi,”� I grinned at them. 

“Hi,”� Alan said, gazing at me. 

When Snape came into the common room to take us down to the Entrance Hall, I felt really excited, but a little nervous. What if I couldn’t dance? 

I noticed Malfoy over by the doors to the Great Hall, with Pansy clinging to his arm like she wasn’t going to let go. I wanted to go over there and prise her hands off him. Wait, what am I saying? Malfoy totally deserves Pansy’s clutch; if he’s so eager to get back with her because of some stupid Ball, then he deserved it. He could have asked anyone to the Ball. Lydia — okay, maybe not — a third year, a fifth year. Me ... Where did that come from? I may not hate Malfoy, but I can’t stand him most of the time; why would I want to go to the Ball with him? I do _not_ like him like that! I don’t even like him! 

I pushed that twisted thought out of my head, and began the dinner that came before the Ball. All through it, I kept looking at Alan and wondering why I went with him, even though, so far he’s been the perfect partner. What is wrong with me? Here I am with a wonderful date, and all I can think about is — 

No Blaise, don’t even go there, I warned myself, before I could finish that thought. 

So then we started dancing; Alan is a great dancer, and I’m not as bad as I’d feared. It was nice, Alan with his arms around me and everything. I almost forgot my earlier, crazy thoughts, and I began to enjoy myself. 

Halfway through the Ball, when Alan and I had danced all the way over to the edge of the dance-floor, and we were just beyond the circle of light from the lamps around the Hall, Alan moved his hands from around my waist and started putting them everywhere else. I tried to stop him, but then he clamped his mouth on mine and gave me his version of a kiss. 

So by that time, I was struggling to breathe, and no one had noticed. Well, that’s not entirely true; people around us had moved aside for someone who I couldn’t quite see because Alan had shoved his face right up to mine. 

“Leave her alone, Bole,”� said a voice which I knew to be Malfoy’s. 

Alan pulled away from me and looked at Malfoy. “No, I don’t think so,”� he said mockingly, and slipped his hand inside my dress robes. 

Well that was it for me; I was breathing hard, my hair was a mess, my robes dishevelled and most importantly, I was pissed off. 

Malfoy was about to say something but I interrupted him. 

“No, no Malfoy. I can handle this.”� I drew back my right knee. “But it was sweet of you all the same,”� I added to him. 

Then I shoved my knee right between Bole’s legs. He let go then alright. 

He cried out in pain, bent double and gasping, and moved away from me. He didn’t move fast enough though; I grabbed the collar of his robes, and pulled him forwards angrily. 

“You dirty fucking sleaze!”� I hissed in his ear. “Is this how you get all your girlfriends, by feeling them up? You deserve more than what I just did, I can tell you. You ever try it again, and I’ll make sure you’ll never father a child, get it?”� 

He nodded feebly and staggered off in the direction of the Entrance Hall. 

“Well that was fun,”� I said, breaking the silence. 

Malfoy seemed stunned at my reaction to Bole’s groping. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself,”� he commented. “Looks like I don’t need to be here.”� 

“Um ... thanks,”� I said, “for coming to help me. Not many people would. I owe you one.”� 

Malfoy smiled. “If you’d been Pansy, I’d have left you.”� 

“I’m sure Bole is welcome to her.”� 

“Oh he is. Very welcome.”� 

There was another silence; we seem to have more silences than we do conversations. 

“Come on,”� Malfoy said suddenly, and grabbed my hand. 

He led me out of the Great Hall, away from the Ball, and out into the grounds. It was cold out here, but in the Hall it was too hot, so the cold was a welcome change. 

When Malfoy stopped leading me around, we weren’t that far away from the Entrance Hall, I noticed, but if anybody came outside now, they wouldn’t have seen us. 

“What’s this about?”� I asked, my breath coming out in mists as I spoke. 

“I wanted to give you your Christmas present now,”� he said, grinning. 

“You got me a present?”� I asked curiously, touched that he’d thought of me, since I’d never thought he liked me or anything. Oh, how blind I was. 

“Yeah. Here.”� The last thing I saw, was Malfoy’s grey-blue eyes, alight with amusement, before he kissed me. 

And even though I thought I supposedly hated him, he was slowly changing my mind about him with this kiss. The longer it went on, the better he seemed in my opinion; and I think I might’ve wrapped my arms around his neck, but I’m not too sure. All I know is that I was really enjoying it, that it literally took my breath away and that my lips were slowly warming up with his on them. Any part of my hair that had managed to stay intact when Bole was kissing me — his version remember? — was now ruined by Malfoy’s fingers running through it. Not that I was complaining. 

He pulled away and looked at me. 

“I still owe you one,”� I said breathlessly. 

Malfoy was about to say something but a faint cry of, “Draco!”� stopped him. 

“Damn,”� he muttered. “Its Pansy!”� 

“Can’t she just stay put?”� I said hotly. 

“You were right, she is a little lap dog,”� he said, and laughed softly, running a finger down my cheek. 

I shivered, half hoping it was the cold and half wishing he would do that again. 

“Then ditch her,”� I said quietly, knowing full well that he wouldn’t. 

“Draco!”� 

This time Pansy’s voice sounded closer. 

“Look, I have to go,”� Malfoy said eventually. “Sorry.”� 

“It’s fine. Really,”� I added when he didn’t look convinced. 

He gave a last parting smile and hurried off to Pansy. 

I could’ve killed Pansy for showing up. She has a horrible talent for appearing where she’s not wanted. Still, that’s not the only thing annoying me; the fact that Pansy only has to say his name and Malfoy is tripping over his feet for her, is getting pretty damn annoying. If he really didn’t like Pansy that much, why the hell is he still with her? Why is he wasting his time with a fake, annoying, bitchy girl like Pansy? 

So now, I feel like a fool for kissing Malfoy and really meaning it. I mean, he can hardly be that interested if he won’t give up his darling Pansy for me. But what am I supposed to do? Charge up to the pair of them and tell Pansy that Malfoy just kissed me and it felt like he was serious; or tell Malfoy that an insensitive bastard like him deserves exactly what Bole got? Oh, yeah that’ll work like a charm. _Not_. 

I’m just going to forget Malfoy, pretend that nothing happened and put it behind me before I do something I might regret. Instead of heading back to the Ball, I figure I may as well just go back to my dormitory and spend the rest of the night there. What the hell; I might be alone but at least no one can hurt me that way.


	11. Mixed Feelings

**Chapter 11**

**Mixed Feelings.**

It’s so irritating because, no matter how much I try, I can’t forget that kiss. I think Malfoy knows that he did something wrong; a no brainer, since I was being fouler to him than ever. 

When Lydia had walked — well more like floated — into the dormitory after the Yule Ball, and seen me there, she knew something was up. So I told her all about Bole trying to grope me, and how I stopped him, but I left out all traces of Malfoy. I did that because, basically, I was embarrassed to think that Malfoy actually meant it. I’m now convinced that he was just playing me like he was Pansy, only in much better style. 

So Lydia has no idea Malfoy kissed me; she knows something happened between us because I’m suddenly a hell of a lot more vindictive towards him. 

Now, it’s a few days before the second Tournament task, and there seems to be less hostility towards Potter than before the first task. If I’m honest, I’m happy for him; he was the champion everyone — except the Gryffindors, of course — wanted to fail. And with the Slytherins, several even wanted him to, well, _die_. 

I, however, think that’s a bit extreme. Is there any need to wish something like that on a fellow student? Unless that student happens to be blond, manipulative, gorgeous, yet-still-unfortunately-an-asshole named Draco Malfoy. He deserves far more pain than I can administer to him. 

As you can tell, I’m feeling less than gracious towards Malfoy and his precious Barbie doll bitch. And why not? They single-handedly made me feel like a complete idiot. And I’m sick of the both of them; they seem to be back to their old selves, back in paradise once more, while everyone else in the vicinity is about to puke. 

I haven’t seen Lydia for a while; she’s been in heaven since the Yule Ball. Her date was wonderful and they had a great time. I’m glad somebody did. Ok, I can’t be foul towards Lydia; she’s just happy. And I’m glad for her because she’s my friend, and I wouldn’t want her to mope around like I am lately. 

So, for now, I’m wandering around on my own; too pissed off to find someone I know, and too embarrassed to confront Malfoy. That is the last time I’m going to think of him and everything else; I already feel bad enough without dragging it back up and going over and over it. 

Let’s see, what else can I think about? Hmm, there isn’t much going on around Hogwarts at the moment, if you don’t count the Triwizard Tournament. Maybe I’ll just prank someone for the sheer fun of it... No I won’t, because even pranking has lost its fun. Damn, what has gotten into me? 

Anyway, I was wandering around the corridors — again — and thinking I had nothing to do — _again_ — but it was no good; nothing I did seemed to erase the Yule Ball scenario. If only Pansy hadn’t turned up, if only Malfoy wasn’t so attached to her. But if onlys aren’t getting me anywhere, except the long, lonely road of depression. 

Sorry, that was _way_ too dramatic. 

Somehow, I ended up in the Owlery. Looking up at the owls sleeping in the rafters, it occurred to me that I hadn’t sent a letter to my grandma yet. She’d be expecting one, she had said, when I was about to leave for Hogwarts. Maybe I should send her one; I didn’t have a quill or parchment with me, though, so there was nothing for it but to go back to the common room and witness the latest antics of Malfoy and Pansy. My grandma could wait; I couldn’t face that particular scene right now. 

So, wandering around the school was about the only thing I could do, without being bothered. Outside was out of the question; it was snowing, and had been for the past two or three hours. The corridors would have to do for a stroll. Footsteps sounded behind me; I assumed that it was just some random student, out with the same idea as me. You should never assume. 

“Blaise?”� 

Oh, wonderful, it was Malfoy. Just the person I wanted to see right now. Ignoring him, I kept on walking, increasing my pace a little. 

“Blaise can I talk to you?”� he persisted. 

I stopped, turned around, and let a slow, sarcastic smile appear on my face. 

“Oh look at that,”� I said, in a tone of mock surprise. “Your lap dog isn’t in tow. _What_ a surprise.”� 

Malfoy waited for me to finish. “Can you just forget about Pansy for a minute?”� he said when I had. 

“You’re the one that needs to forget about her!”� I snapped, and carried on walking. 

He followed, which was annoying, but I wasn’t slowing down, not for him. 

“Blaise please!”� he said, and something in his voice stopped me. Maybe I wanted to believe he was going to apologise. Or, you know, maybe I was deluded. 

“Okay,”� I said, folding my arms across my chest, and glaring at him. “Talk.”� 

He seemed unsure what to say; I probably made it harder for him, but I was too pissed off to care by then. After a few minutes of silence, I huffed pointedly and he managed to make a complete sentence. 

“I’m ... sorry.”� Malfoy probably doesn’t have to apologise often, that must be why the words seem unfamiliar to him. “I guess I never thought the whole ... thing out. The idea was to — for want of a better phrase — sweep you off your feet and we’d take it from there. But —”� 

“But Pansy came along at the last moment and you couldn’t bear to break it off with her,”� I finished hotly. “Cut the sentimental crap Malfoy, I’m not interested.”� 

Without any protests, I walked away. If he thinks he can just come along and give some half-assed apology, I thought angrily, then he was seriously wrong. 

Still, when reluctantly I looked back, and saw him watching me with a kind of defeated expression on his face, I felt slightly guilty. But I marched on and gave myself a mental shake. He’s the one who should be feeling guilty, not me. _Don’t waste your time with him_ , I thought firmly. 

When I eventually went back to the common room, I found Lydia there, waiting for me to come back. 

“Where’d you disappear to?”� she asked curiously. 

“I was sick of watching Malfoy and Pansy together. I felt like puking,”� I explained, though I felt bad about lying to my best friend. 

“Oh, right. I thought you might be annoyed at me,”� Lydia said a moment later. 

“Why?”� It was my turn to be curious. 

“Because I left you on your own when I went to talk to Jeff.”� 

Jeff is her boyfriend, by the way, the one she had an absolutely fabulous time with at the Yule Ball. 

I shook my head. “That never even occurred to me, actually,”� I said. “Not that it would anyway,”� I added, shrugging. 

Lydia looked relieved. “Well, that’s good to hear, I felt really guilty earlier. Sorry,”� she added earnestly, and I smiled. 

“Don’t apologise. I’m happy for you.”�

That night, in bed, it was harder for me to be happy for anyone. I mean, Lydia’s romance had worked out like a dream. Even Millicent Bulstrode was in a deeper relationship than me. And of course, every time I think it’ll be different, Pansy comes along and ruins it. Just like the night of the Ball. It’s like she’s deliberately trying to sabotage any chance of happiness I might have. 

There’s also that minor detail that I like Malfoy more than any other boy I’ve been out with before. I don’t know why; he’s been a complete bastard to me over the past year. But despite all that, I still get that shaky feeling whenever he walks into the same room, for god’s sake. How can that happen when I hate his guts?


	12. Fifth Year

**Chapter 12**

**Fifth Year.**

Drama seems to be Hogwart’s forte. 

During the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament, Potter came out of the maze, dragging the dead body of Cedric Diggory, and announced that You-Know-Who was back. Well, you can imagine the hysteria _that_ caused. Of course, not many people believed the boy wizard, and just assumed he was vying for attention, again. 

I don’t honestly know what to believe. On the one hand, you’ve got the most logical reason; Potter’s a hero with delusions of grandeur, and he’s lying. But then, of course, you’ve got the unbelievable explanation that the Dark Lord is alive again, and our resident hero duelled with him, that he managed to get out alive, but can’t really say the same for Cedric Diggory. 

Anyway, we never really got a chance to take the tragedy in, because we went home for the summer holidays, and spent six or seven weeks reading what the Daily Prophet thought of Potter’s announcement. And trust me, they weren’t very favourable towards him. 

I went to George and Izzy’s for the summer, and discovered that my grandma’s house in America had been repossessed, and that George and Izzy had asked her to come and live with them. I felt really grateful towards them for doing that; I don’t think I would have liked to spend so long away from my grandma again. 

So, I met the three of them at King’s Cross Station, and we spent the holidays relaxing and enjoying ourselves completely. Who says it always rains in England? I never saw a drop of rain during those six weeks. 

As the holidays drew to a close, my grandma asked me how everything was going at school. I told her, truthfully, that I had been pretty well-behaved all through fourth year and she seemed pleased with that. Then she asked the dreaded question. 

“How did the Yule Ball go?”� she asked, remembering the things I’d told her in my letter to her. 

“It was ... okay,”� I said vaguely, hoping to get her off the subject. “Nothing exciting.”� 

I could see her expression; she didn’t believe me. Damn it. 

“What really happened?”� she asked, waiting for an honest answer. 

So, unable to think of another story, I told her what had happened. She listened, without interrupting, until I had finished. Then she sat back in her chair, gave it some thought, and sighed. 

“Well, that’s certainly a story to tell the grandchildren,”� she remarked. “You’ve got yourself in a bit of a mess, haven’t you Blaise?”� 

“That is not my fault!”� I protested. 

“I know, I know,”� she soothed, “and I’m not blaming you. But don’t you think you’re being ... well, a bit harsh on him?”� 

“Excuse me? He totally blows me off, without any kind of explanation and you think I’m being harsh? Whose side are you on?”� I asked accusingly. 

“Yours, darling, of course. I just think he made a stupid mistake and wants to apologise, but you’re making it difficult for him. Oh I know he hurt you,”� she added seeing my indignant expression, “but sometimes we all get hurt; it’s the natural order of things.”� 

She got up then, leaving me to think about what she’d said. Was she right? Was I really that horrible to Malfoy? And, more importantly, did he actually try to apologise that day? I don’t know anymore, my thoughts are so screwed up, I can’t seem to sort myself out.

***

So, the end of the summer holidays is in a few days, and it feels like seconds since I stepped off the train at the beginning. I went to Diagon Alley with Izzy the other day. And to my absolute horror, I almost walked into Malfoy. I was _so_ embarrassed, but I tried to act like I wasn’t, and he walked past without so much as a second glance. Annoyingly, I felt quite disappointed that he never even said hello.

But anyway, in exactly four days, my fifth year starts and, surprisingly, I’m pretty excited to be going back. I wonder if what Potter said was true; was You-Know-Who really back? It’s a scary thought, actually, that he might be back. What’ll happen to the wizarding, and even the Muggle, world? 

Around here, something seems to be up. Whenever I walk into a room, George, Izzy and my grandma stop talking and don’t carry on until they’re sure I’ve gone. Occasionally, I can hear my grandma raise her voice angrily, as though she doesn’t agree with George and Izzy, but then she stops shouting, and I can’t hear what they say anymore. It’s really annoying when they do that, but no matter how much I try to make them tell me, they still refuse to say anything. 

But whatever, maybe it really has nothing to do with me; could be one of those stupid ‘grown-up’ things that I hope to delay for as long as possible.

***

Well, I’m on the train, after the usual tear-filled goodbye from Izzy and my grandma, and even George seemed more upset than usual to let me go to school. I think that may have something to do with You-Know-Who, more than anything. The only thing is, my grandma isn’t a witch, even if Izzy and George are; and sure, I told her about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but I don’t know if she really listened or believed me.

On the train, I sat in silence, with Lydia and Jeff giggling in the background. They’re still very much infatuated with each other, as I guessed they would be, and still, I haven’t told Lydia about Malfoy and everything. I don’t think I could face her reaction; I know how much she hates Malfoy, almost as much as I used to, and I don’t think she’ll take it too well. I also don’t know whether I should confront Malfoy about what happened or not; I will be so embarrassed if I find out he’s totally over me. That would just be too cruel. 

When we pulled into the station, I was more than eager to get off. As much as I like Lydia, she was really getting on my nerves, trying not to get on my nerves. If only Jeff wasn’t such a nice guy, I could hate him for making my best friend act like an excited puppy. 

Anyway, the start of term began on a much sombre note than any other. Dumbledore reminded us again about the dangers of the Dark Lord, and then we found out that we were getting a new Defence Against the Arts professor. Not so unusual for Hogwarts, since we have a different one every year, and even that fact that the new professor was a woman didn’t come as much of surprise. It was the fact that she looked like a toad, but acted so ... deceptively sweet; like everyone’s least favourite relative. She even dared to interrupt Dumbledore during his announcements. Umbridge, that’s her name, obviously doesn’t know how things work around here. Oh, you should’ve seen the look on McGonagall’s face, it was priceless. 

But, somehow, I guess the school knew something was going to happen with Umbridge in it. Between the drivel about how important our education is to the Ministry of Magic, and how happy she was to be back at Hogwarts, I caught a deeper meaning in her words. I think — I wasn’t listening that much — that the Ministry is trying interfere with Hogwarts. 

Well, as long as she gets rid of that stupid pink cardigan, I think I can live with her. 

It came as huge relief when Umbridge finally stopped talking and the feast started.


	13. Midnight Rendezvous

**Chapter 13**

**Midnight Rendezvous.**

So it’s a few weeks before the summer holidays, and Umbridge is still the most hated teacher in school. Or at least, a lot of people hate her; mostly people who believe Potter’s version of Diggory’s death. Of course, Malfoy and the assholes he calls his friends think Umbridge is the best thing to happen to the school. It pains me to say this — yeah right — but I have to agree with Potter. I think Lydia and I are the only two Slytherins who believe our resident hero. Not that I care; the Slytherins can go screw themselves before I take their advice. 

Something strange happened early in the year; ten of You-Know-Who’s Death Eaters escaped from Azkaban prison. It caused quite a stir, and most people seemed to think that they were going to burst through the doors and start cursing everyone that got in their way. Idiots. Hogwarts is one of the safest places in the world. 

Anyway, I am sick to death of Pansy. For some reason I think she knows that something happened between me and Malfoy, because she’s being such a show-off that even Millicent Bulstrode keeps ditching her — go Millicent. And yet Malfoy seems to be lapping it up, and whenever I accidentally witness their latest tryst, he gives me this smug little smirk as if to say, “Too bad, you’re missing out on this.”� (Incidentally, his smirk is horribly cute and I wish he wouldn’t use it; it makes me hopelessly flustered and embarrassed). 

After being bored to tears by a fourth-year who thinks everyone wants to hear about his amazing slug collection, I found that sleep, although welcome, was not going to happen. Wandering the corridors never used to be such a hobby of mine, but now, well I find that I’m doing it even more. It’s actually the best time to think, because everything seems much clearer in the middle of the night. 

On this particular night, I decided that a trip to the seventh floor was a good idea. I know that Trelawney’s room is in the North Tower, which is at the very top of the seventh floor, but as for what else is up there, I have no idea. So I began the long trek to the very top floor of Hogwarts, relishing the near silence, and hoping I wouldn’t meet Filch on the way there and back. 

I stood at the top of the final staircase, listening hard for any sound other than the ones outside. When I could hear nothing, I carefully made my way to the end of a long corridor, where a single door stood ajar. Curiously, I peered into the room beyond and thought it was empty. I made to walk into it. 

Until Malfoy appeared and threw himself into an armchair. I jumped back hurriedly, praying to god that he hadn’t seen me, and wondered what the hell he was doing on the seventh floor at this time of night. 

Okay, I’ll admit it; I wasn’t overly concerned with being caught out of bed by Malfoy, just then. When I’d finally taken a good look at him, I noticed he was naked from the waist up. Not only am I unable to look away, but I want to burst in there and run my hands all over his rather impressive torso. Which is, of course, ridiculous; anyone would think I’m ... _Pansy_. 

It was second nature to go in there and kiss him until he was left gasping, but I stayed where I was, instead. After all, was he alone in there or not? He was still staring at the fire, the brooding look on his face making his features doubly attractive and almost shattering my self control. Goddammit, why does he have to be so bloody gorgeous? Screw it, I’m going to go in there and talk to him. That is, if my legs still work. They seem to prefer to stay here so I can watch Malfoy without his knowledge. 

So I pushed to door open gently, peeking around it, making a quick check that Malfoy was the only one in the room. He was, incidentally, and I walked purposefully towards him, plonking myself in the seat opposite him. I could see him visibly brace himself when he saw who it was. 

“Are you so scared to be alone with me?”� I teased. “God, Draco, I’m not going to hex you. Though you’d deserve it,”� I added, throwing him mini-glare. 

Instead of replying, Draco simply swallowed hard, and stared at me. Glancing down, I saw what was causing him so much discomfort. It was my pyjamas, you see, they were light blue, with a vest-top that was actually pretty low-cut for nightwear. 

I looked up again. “Do you think you could look at my face, and not just my cleavage?”� I said dryly, when Draco’s eyes were still fixated on my chest. 

His eyes quickly snapped up to meet mine, and he blushed faintly. “Sorry,”� he muttered. “You just … surprised me, that’s all.”� 

I quirked an eyebrow at that last comment, but I didn’t answer. The silence was thick, and laced with some kind of tension. 

“So, why are you up this late?”� Draco asked after a few moments. 

“Couldn’t sleep,”� I shrugged. “You?”� 

“The same. I’ve been spending too much time thinking.”� 

“Really? About what?”� 

“The usual; school stuff, my parents, Quidditch … you.”� His eyes left mine at that point, and it took several seconds for me to work out what he’d just said. 

I blinked when it had sunk in. “Oh,”� I said blankly. “Right.”� 

There was another unfortunate silence, while I pondered Draco’s words. It hadn’t escaped my attention that he’d left out any mention of Pansy, for which I am extremely pleased about. 

“Erm,”� I said eventually, trying to keep away from such an intense subject. “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”� 

I looked back at him to find his eyes already glued to me. And to my face this time, not my chest, thankfully. 

“I …”� He trailed off at the first syllable. 

“Come on, you can tell me. I’ll try not to laugh.”� I thought it was very magnanimous of me to promise something like that; he hadn’t, after all, been a very sensitive person the last few days. 

“It’s over there,”� Draco shrugged finally, pointing to the bundle of fabric under the windowsill. “It got too hot with the fire, and — well …”� 

“Why didn’t you spell the fire out?”� I asked, wondering why he didn’t go for the simple option. 

“Because I wasn’t thinking straight.”� He casually leant back in his seat, starting to relax. 

Unfortunately the gesture only served to make me more uncomfortable. Damn, Draco was making it really hard for me to concentrate, as usual. 

“Why?”� I asked, my voice almost a whisper as I watched the muscles in Draco’s arms as he crossed them. 

“I was thinking about you,”� he said, at last, “and that kiss. Blaise, you … you don’t know what you do to me.”� 

The final sentence was spoken so bluntly, I thought for a second he was having me on. One look at his grey eyes, though, told me all I needed to know. 

He was telling the truth. Fuck, he really knows how to make a girl tremble. 

I jumped from my seat almost before I realised I was standing. Draco gave me an odd look, which quickly turned to one of surprise as I deposited myself on his knees. Then he smiled, and my heart was trying to leap out of my throat, and I could feel Draco’s heartbeat racing as well. I wondered, for a moment, how he could be so calm and in control, until I leant forwards, stopping just centimetres from his lips. Then I felt the way his hands tightened around my waist, one arm snaking up, cupping the back of my head, and the tiny gasp he gave as I shifted slightly in his lap. 

Well, that pretty much obliterated my self-control, and I closed the rest of the gap and latched onto his lips hungrily. 

Despite only having shared one kiss, I knew exactly where Draco was most sensitive — i.e. the places that would turn him on most — and a low moan escaped from his mouth as I licked the skin behind his ear. It was sort of an instinctive thing, and he seemed to get the point straight away, since he roughly kissed my neck. Well, that was definitely going to leave a mark. 

And just as things were going in the right direction, and our actions were speaking for us, the door burst fully open and Draco and I sprang apart, though I didn’t get up from his legs. 

In the doorway, looking like she’d just swallowed a lemon, was Pansy. Oh, what brilliant timing, I _don’t_ think. 

“Draco!”� she gasped, her eyes widening at the spectacle in front of her. 

I started to get up, thinking that this would be a good time for Draco to break the news to her, but he held me in place, keeping his arms encircled around my waist. 

Pansy noticed this, and her eyes narrowed. “How could you?”� she whined piteously. “I thought you loved me!”� 

“I think I’ve seen the error of my ways,”� Draco said smoothly, though there was a bite of impatience in his voice. “Blaise was only too happy to show me where I was going wrong.”� 

Pansy turned malevolent blue eyes on me for a second, before she pouted and flicked her gaze back to Draco. 

“She’s nothing compared to me,”� she said after a pause, the hatred in her voice clear for everyone to hear. 

“I think you’ll find that she surpasses you in more ways than one, Pansy,”� Draco said in a low, heated voice. 

“Though we still have yet to find out how much,”� I chimed in helpfully. “So, if you wouldn’t mind, could you just … fuck off?”� 

The door slammed shut in Pansy’s face, and I glanced down at Draco. “There was no need to close the door on her,”� I said, mock-seriously. “Though I have to admit, it does get rid of her effectively.”� 

“Then it was worth it,”� Draco said simply, and then he cut of my reply with another kiss. 

I smiled against his mouth, and wondered how long we could last without being interrupted this time.


	14. Fireworks

**Chapter 14**

**Fireworks.**

It was with some sense of satisfaction that I made my way back to my dormitory, with Draco. Raging hormones and flowing adrenaline really makes for passionate kisses; I could barely keep my hands off him. 

We’d just walked into the common room, when Draco seized me around the waist, pulled me onto the sofa and planted kiss after kiss on my lips. 

_Oh, don’t do this to me_ , I thought longingly, feeling his lips on my neck. _Please don’t do this to me..._

But he did, and I could already feel myself melting; I just wanted him so much. It’s impossible to describe how I really felt at that moment; I was just a bag of mixed emotions, and my mind was pretty much frozen from Draco’s kisses. 

Then he pulled back, looked down at me — yes, he was on top of me — and grinned. He pushed himself up, resting on his arms, while I looked back at him and wondered whether it’d be obvious if I pulled him back to me. 

“Are we even yet?”� he asked, his hair falling into his intense grey eyes. 

“Not even close,”� I breathed, linking my hands behind his neck and leading his lips to mine.

***

The next morning, with a huge smile on my face, I woke up and remembered the events of last night. Ooh, I can’t wait to see Draco, this morning. Is this what it feels like after your first — sort of — kiss? Because if it is, then I’ll never tear my lips away from Draco’s. This feels great!

So, I got up and dressed, and I was about to open the dormitory door, when it opened and Lydia walked in. 

“Morning,”� she said brightly, when she saw I was up. 

“Morning,”� I said cheerfully, although I could just as well have shouted it, since I was so happy. 

“Wow, you’re in a good mood,”� Lydia grinned. “What’s up?”� 

“Oh, nothing,”� I sighed exultantly. “It’s just a really beautiful morning, that’s all.”� 

“Yeah, right,”� she laughed. “What’s — what’s that?”� 

I froze as she pointed at my neck in curiosity. Glancing at the full-length mirror, I saw that Draco really had left a mark last night; the large purple mark above my collar-bone was just a little too shaped to be a bruise. 

“This?”� I asked nervously. “It’s um ... well, it’s nothing ... sort of ...”� 

“Okay, stupid question; I know what it is, but who’s it off?”� Lydia said impatiently. 

Why does she have to ask? I thought miserably, my good mood going out the window. Why did she have to see it? Oh, man, this is so embarrassing. But I don’t see why it has to be embarrassing; I mean, it’s not as if it’s a crime to go out with Draco. Just because Lydia doesn’t like him, doesn’t mean I can’t date him. 

“Well, if you really want to know; it’s off Dra — I mean, Malfoy,”� I said quickly. 

“Really? Oh.”� She suddenly seemed to lose interest. “I wondered when you two would stop being so stubborn.”� 

“Yeah ... huh?”� I spluttered in surprise. 

“Come _on_ , Blaise, it was so obvious that you fancied the hell out of him,”� she grinned. “I was just waiting for the two of you to get together.”� 

“Oh,”� I said, still unsure of what to say. “Right.”� 

“I figured it out after the Yule Ball; you were such a bitch to him. But I don’t understand why.”� 

“Because he kissed me at the Ball, but then Pansy came along and totally ruined the moment,”� I said in a conversational tone. “And I assumed he was just stringing me along.”� 

We went down to breakfast, still discussing it. In the Great Hall, I found myself automatically looking for Draco. He was already there, looking utterly bored, between Crabbe and Goyle. I can’t imagine the conversation was too lively. 

When he saw me, he muttered something to Crabbe, who moved so I could sit next to Draco. 

“Hi,”� he said, with his trademark smirk. 

Damn, he looks so sexy when he does that. 

My first thought was to kiss him, but I didn’t want to make all the innocent people around us bring their breakfast back up. So I settled for shuffling closer to him. 

“Hey,”� I replied cheerfully. 

I watched with vindictive pleasure as Pansy shot me a dark look from across the table, when Draco put his arm around me. She looked so furious, I almost laughed. 

Then I noticed the small tear running down her cheek, catching the sun as it slowly fell from her face. Okay, I felt bad, and I had to look away. But moments later, it didn’t matter, because Pansy jumped up and ran out of the Great Hall. Now I really felt bad. 

I looked up at Draco, who looked as guilty as I felt, and wondered whether I should do anything. But I just don’t think a conversation with Pansy is the best thing I should do right now. 

Anyway, it’s Saturday today, and Lydia and I had already planned to go to Hogsmeade and meet Fred and George there. They were in the village to ‘check out the competition’, as they put it, and we were happy to help them. Draco was less than thrilled at spending the day in the company of the Weasley twins, so while Lydia and I chatted with Fred and George, Draco went off down the street to talk with some of the other Slytherins. 

Fred was standing with Angelina Johnson, his girlfriend, and George was off to the side, looking in the window of Zonko’s joke shop. Fred was so absorbed in Angelina that I don’t think he even noticed Lydia and I had arrived; George did though. The minute we turned up, he hurried over to us and pulled out a list for their new fireworks, and tried to get us to put our names down. 

“No thanks,”� I said with a smile, even though I was sorely tempted. Lydia just smiled and shook her head, and eventually we ended up in the Three Broomsticks, sitting around one table in the corner. Fred and Angelina were entwined around each other, George was in deep discussion with Lydia, and they too looked very cosy together; heads bent towards each other as they exchanged serious glances, before bursting into laughter. I sat and watched them, amused; for all the world they looked like they were flirting, and I chuckled at the thought. 

Not long afterwards, I glanced up at the window and saw Draco standing there. He waved and gestured for me to come outside. I stood up and told Lydia where I was going, and she nodded, saying she’d be out in a minute. 

“I think I will put my name down for those fireworks after all,”� she said thoughtfully, and George looked at her in surprise, though he said nothing and smiled instead. 

I shrugged and left the table; at the same time, Fred and Angelina left, with Fred telling his brother that he’d be back in half and hour, that he was just taking Angelina home. 

“He always leaves me to take care of the business,”� George said, as his twin went out the door. 

I said my goodbyes and exited the pub. Lydia and George looked too engrossed in each other to notice that I’d left. 

Draco and I were indulging in some heavy-duty kissing, when Lydia came out of the Three Broomsticks, looking extremely embarrassed. I assumed she was felt like a third wheel, so I pulled away from Draco, and we headed back up to the castle. 

By the time we got to the common room, though, Lydia’s cheeks were still flushed and she was still anxious and something. After glancing at her worriedly, I decided something serious was up. 

“Draco,”� I whispered. “I need to talk to Lydia. Can you give me a second?”� 

“Sure,”� he nodded, and went off to talk to some sixth years over in the corner. 

“Okay, Lydia, what’s up?”� I turned to her expectantly. 

“Nothing,”� she replied, avoiding my eyes completely. 

I folded my arms across my chest. “Really?”� 

“I’m fine!”� she protested. 

I waited a few seconds, giving her a look. 

“Oh, alright,”� she sighed finally. “But you’ll have to come upstairs. If anyone hears this ...”� 

I never found out the end of that sentence; she almost dragged me up to the dormitories before I had a chance to say anything. Dropping onto my bed, I looked at her. 

“Well?”� I asked. 

“I kissed him!”� she blurted out, then bit her lip and sank onto her own bed. 

“Who?”� I asked, without thinking. 

“George!”� she wailed. 

“Oh,”� I said softly. “So you did get fireworks then?”� 

“What?”� she said, in distracted confusion. 

“You said you were going to put your name down for some fireworks.”� 

“Oh I got them alright,”� Lydia muttered, but a small, dreamy smile appeared where her anxious expression had been. 

“Was it that good?”� I asked. 

“You have no idea, Blaise. He was just so … cute, and when I looked at him, it was just there. And you know I used to fancy him in fourth year. It all kind of came back.”� 

“So are you going to tell Jeff?”� I asked, hating to bring her back to reality. 

“No, I can’t! He’d feel so betrayed; it was a one time thing with George, I’m sure of it.”� She seemed much more decisive now, but there was a note of hesitation in her voice. 

”�What do you mean ‘sure of it’?”� I said. 

“It’s serious with Jeff; being so close to George just brought back all the old feelings from fourth year, that’s all. But …”� 

“But …?”� I prompted. 

“But what if it isn’t?”� she continued. “What if I pretend the thing with George never happened, and it turns out that it could’ve been something permanent? I mean, Jeff and I have never said anything about after Hogwarts. We just always kind of assumed something would happen that would sort everything out for us.”� 

She put her head in her hands, looking thoroughly miserable and sighing every five minutes. When she looked up at me moments later, her face was so beseeching and dejected that I felt even worse for her. 

“You can’t tell anyone either, Blaise,”� she begged. “Not even Malfoy. It’s just between us ok?”� 

“Ok,”� I agreed helplessly. 

After, all what Jeff doesn’t know, can’t hurt him. 

Right?


	15. Pansy's Revenge

**Chapter 15**

**Pansy’s Revenge**

This is great. Just great. 

I’ve been dating Draco for about ten minutes and already I’m keeping secrets from him. Fair enough, it’s not my secret, but I’m involved. But I did promise Lydia I wouldn’t tell anyone about the thing with George — although I think they’d make a cute couple — so I guess I’ve got to keep that secret. 

Now I know Lydia was lying when she said that kiss with George meant nothing. That little smile on her face when she told me? Yeah, she so totally smitten with him. But she won’t admit to it, and George must be thinking he’s an idiot or something. Next time they're in Hogsmeade, I am so going to find out if that kiss meant as much to George as it clearly meant to Lydia. 

But right now, I have no other thoughts in my head except for the ones that are screaming at me to kiss Draco senseless. Did I mention I was making out with him right now? 

Anyway, it’s a Saturday, and everyone is enjoying the freedom the weekend brings. I have a mountain of homework to do back in my dormitory, but right now I’m — ahem — too busy to even put quill to parchment. Draco and I are in a conveniently secluded corridor. Total bliss. 

Of course, it couldn’t just stay like that a little longer could it? 

The grating, high-pitched giggle of Pansy Parkinson reached my ears. No doubt she had cornered some poor guy and was now flirting away like crazy. It’s no wonder she’s still single. 

I pulled away from Draco, and sighed in frustration. 

“God, can’t she just disappear, like, forever?”� I said rolling my eyes, exasperated. 

“Pansy’s whole existence depends on showing up at the most inappropriate moments,”� Draco shrugged. “It’s what she does best.”� 

“Come on, I can’t stand that laugh any more,”� I said, taking has hand. 

We walked along the corridor, coming closer to where Pansy was — probably — torturing the new object of her affections. When we rounded the corner, we saw her, pressed up against a Slytherin. From where I was stood it didn’t look like he was being tortured, though he did look familiar. That’s when I noticed; it wasn’t just any old Slytherin, going at it with slut of the century, Pansy Parkinson. 

It was Jeff. 

I froze, leaving Draco to walk a few steps ahead, before he noticed I’d stopped. 

“What?”� he asked bewildered. 

Instead of answering I took a step forward, hoping against hope that it wasn’t Jeff. But there was no mistaking that tall, lanky posture. If only there was. 

Draco finally realised why I’d stopped. He gave me a look that said ‘Maybe we should go’, but I took no notice. All I could think of was Lydia. She was going to be crushed when she found out about this. 

“Come on, Blaise,”� Draco murmured, his hand sliding around my wrist. “Let’s go.”� 

“I can’t just let him stand there and snog the hell out of Pansy!”� I protested in a furious whisper. “What about Lydia?”� 

“Lydia isn’t here right now so she has no idea,”� Draco pointed out. “Why don’t you just keep it that way?”� 

”�You don’t understand!”� I hissed at him, wrenching my arm from his grasp. 

I know I’m being petty and stupid and pathetic, but you try watching your best friend’s boyfriend getting off with some brainless whore. Draco’s angry with me now; he’s probably wondering why he’s even bothering to go out with me, but I can’t just let something like this drop. 

“Well if I don’t understand, then maybe I should go,”� Draco said hotly, turning away from me. 

“Draco don’t,”� I pleaded. “I know you want to pretend this hasn’t happened, but I can’t, alright? And it’s not just the fact that he’s with Pansy; Lydia’s been feeling so guilty lately, because she —”� 

Bloody hell, I nearly told him there; Lydia wasn’t going too pleased with me at all. But he’s looking at me now and I know he wants to know what I was going to say; maybe I should tell him, then he’ll understand. Then I can tell him not to let Lydia know I told him. 

“Because she what?”� he asked curiously. 

“Because she kissed George Weasley.”� 

Comprehension dawned on Draco’s face and had he had any real concern for the Weasley twins, he might have winced. 

“Oh. I see.”� 

I sighed. “And now this bastard is playing her and she feels _guilty_ for what she did. When I tell her about this —”� 

“She won’t believe you,”� Draco shrugged. 

“What? _Why?!_ ”� I couldn’t believe what I was hearing; of course Lydia would believe me, I’m her best friend! 

“Because she’s besotted with him and she won’t listen to a word you say.”� 

I thought about protesting, but then I realised it didn’t matter how much I didn’t want to believe it, it was true. Lydia was too head over heels for Jeff; she wouldn’t hear a word against him. 

“Well, that’s just great,”� I muttered. “I’ve just discovered something I wish I hadn’t, and it’s going to hurt my best friend, and she won’t believe a word I say when I try to tell her, and when she finds out I told you she’s going to kill me and —”� 

With a kiss powerful enough to leave me gasping, Draco cut me off. I was actually pretty relieved that I didn’t have to talk for the moment; it was blissful enough just to know that he wasn’t fed up of me yet. Maybe I shouldn’t speak too soon though, because I just know he’s going to get really annoyed with me pretty soon. 

He pulled away slowly, as though reluctant to do so. I looked at him, wondering what had brought the latest display of passion on. 

“You were babbling,”� he smirked. “I had to do something.”� 

And despite the seriousness of the situation, I laughed. It was either that or freak out completely, so I settled for laughing and eventually we were both laughing. I have no idea what we found so funny all of a sudden, but mindless fun was all I needed. 

In the common room that night, Jeff was sat with Lydia, whispering in her ear and kissing her. I glared at him until he looked up and saw me staring at him darkly. He gave a hesitant smile — which I blatantly ignored — then turned back to Lydia and went right on murmuring things in her ear. I hope he feels guilty, you know, because if he doesn’t then I hope he realises that Lydia will find out eventually and she’ll kick his ass to the curb. 

Hard.


	16. Pansy Strikes Again

**Chapter 16**

**Pansy Strikes Again.**

Thankfully, there’s only one more week to go before the end of the year. Still, I can’t say I’ll be glad to go six weeks without Draco and I definitely don’t want to keep the fact that Jeff kissed Pansy from Lydia for that long either. Damn it, she deserves to know and I don’t see why I should have to hide it from her, although I know it will hurt her a lot. 

Okay, now that I’ve finished my rant, I can get back to the last bit of homework this year. And wouldn’t you know it; it’s a Potions essay, one that’s going to take me all day. Snape really does know how to take all the fun out of life, doesn’t he? So soon after O.W.Ls and he’s setting us homework … 

While I’m scribbling down facts about every potion we’ve brewed this year, Draco is lounging casually next to me. The smug git has already done his essay, not that it took him long anyway. I tried to sneak a look at what he’d written, but he saw me and told me I wasn’t stupid and that I could write an essay by myself. The trouble is, I’m nowhere near as good as he is at Potions. Lydia is, but I can’t find her. I bet she’s with _Jeff_. 

Anyway, I can’t finish this stupid essay, so I’ll just wait for Lydia to come back and then ask her about it. Right now, my mind is too focussed on other things to think about something as trivial as Potions. 

I dropped the quill on top of the parchment and left it there while I shifted in my seat and turned to face Draco. 

“You’ve finished?”� he asked, looking up from the book he was reading. 

“No, I’ll do it later,”� I shrugged. He raised his eyebrows. “Okay, much later,”� I amended. 

“Whatever,”� Draco said, “it’s your homework. Snape will only give you detention.”� 

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we both got detention?”� I murmured in his ear. “Then we’d have somewhere decent to make out. It gets cold in the Astronomy tower, don’t you think?”� 

“Blaise,”� he said, somewhat mockingly, while putting a hand on the arm of the chair, effectively trapping me, “I never get detention, didn’t you know that?”� 

“Well, that’s a shame because I was really looking forward to kissing you senseless tonight. Guess we’ll never get the chance,”� I sighed theatrically. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t say _that_ ,”� Draco said, his smirk so much more pronounced when he was only inches away. 

You’d think kissing someone all day would get really boring, but it’s not. Far from it. I can barely get enough and even Pansy’s irritating screech doesn’t register until she appears behind the sofa me and Draco are currently entwined upon. Maybe seeing her beloved Draco in the arms of another girl made her jealous. Probably incensed with rage. If she’d cried, I would’ve understood. Hell, if she’d _kicked and screamed_ , I would’ve understood. But there is no way I can excuse what she actually did. 

Slytherin’s resident whore sauntered her way over to a gang of sixth year guys in the corner. She stood in front of them, flicking her wavy, blonde hair — her pride and joy — over her shoulders and pouting prettily. Well of course, the sixth years were nearly drooling; I didn’t really expect anything else, and neither did Pansy. She knew what she was doing, alright. 

What _I_ didn’t know — too busy wrapped up in Draco, you see — was that the sixth year boys included my not-so-favourite Slytherin. Yep, you guessed it: Jeff. That slimy son of a bitch reached a hand out and pulled Pansy by the waist onto his knee. Pansy squealed girlishly, and pretend-struggled her way out of Jeff’s arms. Pretty soon, they were too busy necking to even register the catcalls and whistles from the other sixth years around them. 

I didn’t see all this, I only found out the minor details later from Draco. What I did see was Pansy practically forcing her tongue down Jeff’s throat as a last parting kiss. I just happened to open my eyes and see them at it. And that was all it took. 

The next thing I knew, I’d stormed over to the pair of them and I was virtually dragging Pansy by her perfect blonde hair from Jeff’s knees. Needless to say she shrieked loud enough for the whole castle to hear, and several people jumped up to try and get me off her. Ha, like they had a chance. 

Infuriated, I dumped her bodily on the floor, standing over her with clenched fists at my sides, and watched her struggle to right herself. She eventually managed to stand up, tugging her robes into their original positions, and smoothing back her hair. 

“What are you doing?!”� she shouted, both angry and slightly nervous in the face of my rage. 

“Dancing the waltz with a troll,”� I spat sarcastically. “What does it look like?”� 

Pansy actually had the nerve to look indignant. “What’s wrong, Zabini, worried that your friend Lydia might walk in?”� Pansy sneered, looking triumphant when I glared at her. 

“I can’t believe even you would sink so low,”� I said in disgust. 

“Oh you haven’t seen anything yet,”� Pansy said with a smirk, which reminds me of Draco and I can see where she got it from. 

“I was talking to Jeff,”� I retorted and she flushed with embarrassment. 

“Well, in that case, he sunk low when he went out with that bloody Gray!”� Pansy shouted, growling at the mention of Lydia. 

“You know, Pansy,”� I said calmly, with a wide smile, “I know you’re upset that Draco chose me over you, but this isn’t the way to get attention.”� 

Pansy suddenly stopped smirking and her face became even uglier than it was before. 

“Draco and I were perfect together!”� she cried. “Then you came along and ruined it all!”� 

I gritted my teeth, wanting to punch her stupid lights out, but having to control the tempting urge because I’m already in enough trouble as it is. Pansy’s smile returned, becoming cat-like as she leant forwards. God, is she trying to make me hit her or what? 

“Pansy,”� I said darkly, “I can avoid kicking your ass if you just step back.”� 

“I’m not messing with Jeff just to get back at Gray,”� she whispered softly, so only I could hear it, “that would be pointless. I’m doing it because I know it’s the one thing that annoys you most. And when you’re annoyed, you tend to … lash out. Face it, you can’t compete with me, Mudblood, not when it comes to Draco. He’s as good as mine.”� 

The bitch is just looking for a fight. And luckily, I’m in the mood to start one. When her words finally sunk in, I saw red. For one tiny second I actually contemplated backing away with some sarcastic retort. But then I heard what she’d said, and I just forgot where I was and who was watching and launched myself at her. I was so outraged, that all I could hear was my own heart pounding in my ears. 

Grabbing fistfuls of her hair again, my other hand sank into her face a few times before I realised it hurt my own knuckles. Then I turned her around, and started bashing her face against the floor, hearing a sickening crunch as her nose shattered. Still, Pansy gave as good as she got; within seconds I found myself being pushed away and a wrenching pain as her foot collided with my shins. I dropped to the floor in agony, and watched as Pansy whipped out her wand and started waving it around. 

What kind of dirty, underhand trick was that? Without even pulling out my own wand — that would have taken too much time — I forced myself up to tackle her to the ground, hearing her wand clatter somewhere behind me and punched her in the stomach before she could do anything to me. She soon recovered and before I knew it, we were rolling around on the floor, real fighting abandoned, using our nails and trying to tear each other’s hair out among other things. I felt Pansy grab my arm and claw her fingers all down the length of it, leaving deep, bloody welts on it. 

Then quite suddenly, I grabbed at thin air and found myself being dragged along the floor, away from Pansy, and watching the same happen to her. One of the sixth year prefects was on the verge of tying her to a chair before she suddenly stopped struggling and let herself be pulled away from the middle of the common room. I was just about thrown onto the sofa, and found myself looking up at a furious Draco. And that’s when I came to my senses, lying there, watching his grey eyes look like thunderclouds. I actually felt kind of … bad about fighting with Pansy — although she deserved every second of it — and I looked down at the floor, slightly ashamed. 

“Would somebody like to explain what on earth has been going on in here?”� 

Oh, god, it just got worse — if possible. Snape has just arrived in the common room, after being alerted to a fight by the telltale Prefects. I hate those smarmy gits… 

Anyway, Snape was livid when the story got out. Pansy of course, tried to shout her version across the room, before Snape shot her a dark look, and then she shut her fat mouth. Then he rounded on me, because, apparently, starting a fight is much worse than participating in one. I am in deep trouble; I don’t think I can lie my way out this time. 

“Miss Parkinson, Miss Zabini, follow me”� Snape said curtly, sweeping out of the common room like the proverbial bat out of hell. 

Totally subdued, I glanced at Draco, who was trying to look composed. He must hate me by now, and god only knows what he thinks of me. I don’t even think I want to know. 

Snape’s office in the dungeons is always cold, even now, in the summer; it’s like he keeps it magically freezing for his own sadistic pleasure or something. I wasn’t the only one who was shivering; Pansy was too, only she did it in this pathetic, simpering way that was designed to make sure Snape bestowed pity on her. Unfortunately — for her at least — Snape is not your average teacher. He may be a sarcastic prat and a pain in the ass, but there is absolutely no favouritism between his Slytherin students. Other houses can go to hell, as far as he’s concerned, but his own students are properly disciplined. Anyway, enough about punishment; I can only imagine what he’s got in store for me. I don’t really care to know either. 

He casually flicked his wand at the lights, which immediately flared into life, and banged the door shut behind him. 

“Sit”� he said sharply to me and Pansy. We sat on one side of his desk, with him on the other. I felt like puking, though whether that was to do with the fight or because I’m sat next to _Pansy_ , I can’t tell. 

Once we were all seated, Snape gave us both a cold look and began to look as though we were something extremely small and disgusting. He can talk, I mean, his hair doesn’t look like it’s been washed in over twenty years. Snape glanced at me now, as though he could hear what I was saying and I immediately looked down at my feet. 

“What happened?”� he asked briskly, when there was no sound for five minutes. 

Pansy instantly began to look like she was in great pain.“S-she just attacked me P-professor!”� she whimpered pathetically. 

I rolled my eyes but said nothing, purely because there was nothing for me _to_ say. 

“Really?”� Snape said quietly, fixing me with a piercing stare. “And may I inquire as to why?”� 

“I don’t know!”� Pansy sobbed, big fat tears rolling down her cheeks. I didn’t know she could fake crying … 

“Miss Zabini? Would you care to enlighten me?”� 

And here’s where it all went wrong. 

I could hardly say, “Because she’s swapping spit with my best friend’s boyfriend,”� could I? So I had to come up with an alternative excuse and pray that Pansy would, just this once, help me out. 

“The thing is …”�I trailed off and saw Pansy looking extremely smug when Snape wasn’t looking. Right then all I wanted to do was wrap my hands around her throat and choke her to death. But Snape was still waiting for an answer and my time was running out. 

“The thing is … she … It’s a personal matter, sir.”� 

I’d only just figured it out. Personal problems were nothing to do with Hogwarts, therefore they can’t pry and they can’t expel me! There’s hope yet… 

“Indeed.”� Snape was none too pleased about it either. “Miss Parkinson, would you please step outside for a moment?”� 

It wasn’t a request, even Pansy could see that, so she stood up, a bit miffed and flounced out of the room. Leaving me alone with Snape. I’d have preferred to have her in here, rather than face him all alone. Maybe my oh-so-brilliant plan was not going well … 

“Miss Zabini,”� he began, “personal matters are your own affairs. I can do nothing about that. But when the health of another student is affected by said personal matters, then I’m afraid I have no choice but to punish you. If indeed there is a reason for your behaviour, I want to hear it. Now.”� 

Alright, alright, Merlin he’s pushy, especially for a guy who missed out on the Defence Against the Dark Arts teaching post for the fifth year running. You’d think he’d have nothing but time. 

“Well, it’s like this, sir,”� I said frankly, “Lyd — er … a friend of mine is … involved with someone …”� 

You cannot imagine how wrong it feels to be discussing Lydia’s love life with Snape, of all people. It’s like I’ve entered a time warp or something, one where Snape actually cares about his students lives. 

“Please continue,”� Snape prompted. Why don’t I get a choice? 

“And … well Pansy … she kind of … oh for crying out loud — Pansy’s a slut. Plain and simple.”� 

Oops, that was so not meant to come out. Snape does not look pleased. 

“Er what I mean is … she’s very … friendly. With everyone. Well, not everyone, just … guys mostly.”� I was babbling, which I tend to do a lot when I’m under pressure. Snape looks as though he’s getting a headache. Serves him right, the greasy, slimy son of a — breathe Blaise … 

“What does that have to do with anything?”� Snape asked, looking as though he really didn’t want to know but felt obliged to ask. 

“Well Pansy was getting … friendly with my, er, friend’s boyfriend and I tried to stop her but she got … upset. The angry kind of upset,”� I added quickly, before he thought I’d beaten up a girl who was crying. 

Again, this is so bizarre to be talking to Snape about all of this. And to see him actually listening … well, that’s even worse. But I’m in my stride now, and I can’t seem to stop talking, which I really should do. 

“Then she called me a Mudblood,”� I said indignantly “and I …”� 

“You decided to take matters into your own hands and use outright violence, yes?”� Snape interrupted. 

“Well, that’s about the size of it, yeah,”� I admitted sheepishly. 

“Miss Zabini, may I remind you that there are alternative methods of resolving disputes.”� 

“I know, but you know what Pansy’s like. She was just asking to be grossly disfigured and —”� 

“I believe I should speak to Miss Parkinson,”� Snape cut in distastefully. “Tell her to come in on your way out, if you would.”� 

“Yes, sir,”� I replied dutifully. 

Well, that didn’t go so bad. Still, I have to wait for the punishment Snape has in mind and Merlin knows what that’ll be like. 

“You will be informed of your punishment in the morning. Good evening, Miss Zabini.”� 

“Evening, Professor,”� I said quietly, and left the room. 

Pansy stood outside, ears pressed to the door. When it opened, she quickly stood up straight, gave me a superior glance and stalked into Snape’s office. God, I hate her, pug face and all. 

Now all I have to do is go back to the common room and explain everything to Draco. 

Hmm, maybe that can wait till the morning too.


	17. An Unexpected Guest

Chapter 17 

An Unexpected Guest

It’s worse than I thought. Much worse. Not only is Draco avoiding me – at least I think he is; I haven’t seen him since the fight with Pansy – but I am sentenced to a whole year without going to Hogsmeade. I received an owl this morning and it said that my punishment for fighting with Pansy didn’t start until next year, since this year was almost over. At that point, I was thinking I’d gotten off lightly. That was until I read on. The letter then said that, due to my uncalled for and unorthodox behaviour, I was therefore banned from the village for the whole of my sixth year. Talk about harsh … And now, instead of taking the last few days of my fifth year easy, I’m spending it fretting over Draco and next year. I can’t say the fight with Pansy was worth it, but it does make me feel better whenever I remember the sound of her nose breaking. It’s almost like music to my ears. And speaking of Pansy, I wonder if her punishment was as harsh as mine. Let’s hope so. After a garbled explanation last night, Lydia now thinks I fought with Pansy because she was trying her level best to seduce Draco, so he would dump me and get back with her. I could hardly tell her the real reason, and, when you think about it, technically, I’m not lying to her; Pansy was flirting with Jeff to get back at me and eventually win Draco once more. Alright, I know it’s a flimsy excuse but I had to think fast before I blurted out the whole ugly scenario and suffered six weeks of not knowing whether she ditched him or not. When I finally saw Draco that night, he was a blur of robes as he rushed straight past me and out into the corridor to do his Prefect duties. So he is avoiding me. Brilliant. I can’t think what he’s angry with me for; I mean, sure, I landed a few on his ex, but what’s that got to do with anything? He should be rooting for me really, it’s not like anyone likes Pansy anyway – well, except for Jeff, and let’s face it, he likes anything with a pulse. Perfect for Pansy, the slut. Hopefully, before I go home for the holidays, Draco and I will be back on speaking terms, and I can put this whole incident behind me. Now that I’ve no longer got Hogsmeade weekends to look forward to, next year is going to be very dull indeed; I just hope the holidays will be marginally interesting to make up for it.

***

I was sat in a compartment with a couple of third years; Draco, Crabbe, Goyle and Theodore Nott were joined in their compartment by Pansy and Millicent, so you can imagine I was in no mood to sit with them. The third years kept glancing at me with gaping expressions; they must have seen the fight with Pansy. Well at least some people are impressed. Apart from the odd giggle and breezy voice from the third years, there was silence in our compartment. The image of Pansy flirting outrageously with Draco keeps entering my mind, but I keep squashing it with one of George, Izzy and my grandma, awaiting my arrival at the station. I can’t wait to see them – though I know how they’ll react when they find out I’ve been fighting. When I’d had my fill of high pitched and tittering third years – and believe me, they can get very annoying sometimes – I left the compartment, and wandered down the train, just for something to do. I passed the compartment I should have been in, and saw – to my utter horror – that Pansy was giggling and curling her fingers in Draco’s hair. Draco didn’t look too pleased about the arrangements either, for which I was extremely glad, but he didn’t notice me pass by the window, which almost made me jump into the compartment and break Pansy’s fingers for ever going anywhere near Draco. The train pulled into the station not long after that, and I hurried to get my stuff from the luggage racks. The third years let me pass first – still looking at me in awe, which I was getting fed up of – so I was one of the first off the train and through the barrier into King’s Cross. George, Izzy and my grandma were there, smiling as usual at my return and I went over and did the usual hugging and welcoming back thing. Of course, in the car on the way to Kensington Manor, I was berated almost non-stop for “brawling with another student,” as my grandma put it, to which I replied that Pansy had gotten exactly what she deserved, and that I wasn’t a bit sorry. That stopped them all in their tracks and I didn’t hear another word about it for a long time after. When the car pulled up at the Manor, I was probably the first to jump out. Glancing back, I saw my grandma look pointedly at George and Izzy who looked back doubtfully. I wondered at the exchange but shrugged and wandered into the grand entrance hall of the Manor. Then I stopped and my mouth fell open. Because, there, at the bottom of the marble staircase, stood a man I’d never seen in my life but whom I had no trouble recognising. It was my father. Through the haze of confusion and thoughts spiralling through my mind, I felt someone put a hand on my shoulder. George looked down at me hesitantly, but kindly. I turned and looked over at my father – father! – and found that my mouth was stumbling over one sentence. “What do you want?” I asked flatly. He opened his mouth to speak, but George interrupted him mid-word. “Nelson wanted the chance to see you, Blaise,” he said softly. I shrugged his hand from my shoulder and snorted with derision. Nelson Zabini – I refuse to call him dad – was quite tall, with dark hair and skin, and brown eyes that looked almost black. It was almost like looking at a male version of myself and I can see which of my parent’s features I’ve inherited the most of. The only things I seem to have inherited from my mom are her eyes, which were blue. “Blaise,” he said hoarsely, as though his emotions are trying to overcome him. “My God, Blaise …” Whether he was expecting me to jump into his arms in a tearful reunion, or show some kind of emotion other than disgust, I don’t know. When I made no move or sign of what I was going to do, he sighed and blinked a couple of times, like he was going to cry. Dammit, he has no right to cry. He can’t just walk into my life and expect me to welcome him with open arms, just because he’s my father and because he’s finally developed a conscience. Merlin, I’m surprised I haven’t tried to wipe the pathetically tearful smile from his face yet. Maybe I should start by telling him all the things he’s missed while he’s been off gallivanting somewhere and with someone. All the things he’s never bothered to find out because he decided to walk out on me and my mother; yeah, that’d be a great place to start, because he deserves to know exactly what I think of him. But at that moment, George went over to Nelson, and they embraced like brothers. After a hesitant glance at me, Izzy joined them, tears in her own eyes, whereupon they all looked at me expectantly. Only my grandma hadn’t moved. She did now though, standing beside me, and placing an arm around my shoulders protectively. She knows what’s running through my head, because she’s thinking the same thing. “Eleanor,” Nelson says pleadingly. “I know we’ve never seen eye to eye, but –” “Eye to eye!” my grandma blazes. “No, Nelson, you’re right; we haven’t. Not since you left my daughter for dead, while she was pregnant with your child!” “I know this is hard; don’t make it any more difficult.” Nelson had the nerve to patronise my grandmother. “She’s got every fucking right to make it difficult!” I shouted, and everyone’s eyes swivelled around to look at me. “Don’t act like you’re not to blame!” My grandmother’s arm tightened on my shoulder and I could feel her shaking slightly. “Blaise, language,” she said calmly, though her voice wavered a bit. “I can see you’ve done a wonderful job of raising her,” Nelson commented wryly. “Very commendable.” “At least she was there!” I yelled, wanting to fly at that obnoxious, arrogant face and let rip with every single angry and painful feeling he’d caused me in my life. “At least she didn’t abandon me! Mom wasn’t too good at it either, but she did a damn sight more than you!” The fight looked like it had drawn itself from Nelson’s body. His shoulders drooped and he looked defeated. Then he glanced up at me, pleading me with his eyes to understand him, to listen to everything he wanted to say. “Blaise ...?” he said, his voice almost a whine. “No,” I said venomously and turned my back on him. There was another staircase off to the left that led to the third floor, too, so I practically ran up that and into my bedroom, slamming the door closed behind me. Diving on my bed, I didn’t cry, like the last time Nelson had been mentioned; instead I pummelled the pillow like it was his stupid, fucking face, and growled when feathers began to flutter out from the seams, like it was all his fault. The curtains were drawn back from the French window, and I looked out. The sun was just beginning to set, casting long shadows from the trees in the grounds onto the grass. The sky was an angry red, which suited me just fine, given that I’d just told my father to fuck off. The fluffy golden clouds kind of spoiled the horizon, though, as they reminded of the pillow I’d just ripped to shreds – one more thing to feel guilty about, I suppose, so no harm done. It was a long time before I moved. I was sat at the window, leaning against the frame and looking out at the endless horizon, trying not to think about Nelson and George and Izzy and my grandma. Oh and Draco. Definitely not ... Oh what the hell, thinking of Draco is probably the only thing keeping me sane here; whether or not I’ve alienated him. I still have hope that things will work out between us. God, it seems so long ago that I was pummelling the crap out of Pansy’s face … There was a knock on the door later, and I got up, fully expecting Nelson, trying one last desperate attempt to get me to listen to him before he packed up and left again. Because he would do that, I was sure of it. Instead, my grandma stood on the threshold, her face taut and strained from the events of the evening. She smiled softly when she saw me. “Mind if I come in?” she asked gently. “No,” I said expressionlessly, and went back to my position at the window. My grandmother walked in, shutting the door behind her. She took a seat on my bed and sighed. I glanced at her, noticing how tired she looked all of a sudden. “They’d been planning this for a while,” she said quietly. “George and Isabelle –” she always calls Izzy by her full name – “were so sure you would be glad to see him. I knew better, but I had hoped … well, the point is, I’ve remembered why I never liked him,” she said frankly. “He always was a pretentious little snob; always thought he was better than me and your mother.” “Then why didn’t you set George and Izzy straight?” I asked suddenly. “If you knew all this was going to happen, why didn’t you just tell them what he was really like?” “Nelson has a way of appealing to people; George and Izzy are enamoured with him. Say he’s been a close friend of theirs for years. How could I argue with that? And I didn’t want to start a row.” “All they had to do was ask me and I would’ve told them; I don’t want a father. I’ve got everyone I need here and at school.” I was on the verge of tears and horrified that my voice was starting to wobble. “Oh darling,” my grandma said, her own voice starting to shake. “I know you’re upset about Nelson –” “I’m not upset about him!” I protested. “I couldn’t care less. I just don’t want everyone to think I’m ungrateful. George and Izzy – and you – went to a lot of trouble for this. I just feel like – like a – brat and –” And there I burst into tears; perhaps it was the overwhelming emotional events of the night that were causing me to behave like a five year old, or maybe it was just because my grandma was being so nice about it, when I knew I didn’t deserve it. “Darling, you are nowhere near being a brat,” my grandma said quietly, and beckoned me over to her. When I was sat next to her, she hugged me tight, and whispered, “None of this is your fault; it couldn’t be helped. I should’ve known how hard it would be for you. Don’t cry …” That only made me cry harder because it was easier than talking, and less painful than being angry, and all I really wanted to do was be on my own, but I couldn’t leave my grandma on her own, because that wouldn’t be fair. She was wrong though; it was my fault, because despite everything, despite the fact that I want to smash Nelson’s face in, despite the fact that he’s caused me enough problems already, despite all that, I still wanted to forget all of it and forgive my father and make up for all the years he’d missed while I was growing up. It would’ve been so easy to do so. But instead I had shouted at him, sworn at him and practically wished he was dead just because that was even easier than forgiving him. When my grandma left, which she didn’t do until I’d stopped crying – and that took a while, believe me – I paused for a while at the window, watching the stars glitter like some kind of celestial diamonds, and just losing myself in a feeling that was happiness, contentment, and the feeling I get when Draco kisses me, combined. It hadn’t escaped my attention that half the reason I was so miserable was because of what had happened at Hogwarts; it figures I’d be more worried about that than about the sudden appearance of Nelson. I don’t think I slept much that night. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to; I really did, but I just couldn’t. Nelson kept cropping up, then changing into George and Izzy, looking disappointed that their marvellous plan had gone south, then transforming into my grandma, explaining how Nelson was a lying bastard. Then the killer; my grandma changed into Draco who just glared down at me with his expressive eyes. At some point, I think I woke up and ran to the bathroom to be sick, but that might just have been my imagination and eventually I went back into that restless sleep, with the same recurring dream twirling around in my head.


	18. Why My Father Had To Leave

**Chapter 18**

**Why My Father Had to Leave.**

Before long, Nelson had made himself _very_ comfortable at Kensington Manor. Only me and my grandma seemed bothered by his sudden presence at breakfast, lunch, dinner, and around the fire in the living room during the evening, when George, Izzy, my grandma and I shared stories. Nelson, of course, regaled us with the most suspenseful, detailed and thrilling tales he knew. He’d been living in South Africa for fifteen years, and his peaceful life had been shattered by local wizards and creatures trying to force him out. According to him, anyway. Personally, I think it’s a load of bullshit. 

I see what my grandma meant about George and Izzy being ‘enamoured’ with Nelson; they can barely say two words without mentioning his name. It’s sickening really, and if they keep on doing it I’m shutting myself in my room and not coming out until the end of the holidays. 

One night, at dinner, George and Izzy were laughing at some joke Nelson had just told them. My grandma didn’t find it very funny, and nor did I, but we each gave a thin smile and carried on eating. 

“God, I remember the time I was shoved in a pit with an Acromantula,”� Nelson said nostalgically, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Bloody thing was about sixteen feet tall, and had pincers as sharp as a needle. Its shell was like diamond; took me a couple of attempts before I even scratched it. So obviously, I couldn’t attack it on the back, and then I remembered studying them at school, and it came to me; go for the belly!”� Nelson grinned widely, “So what then, I wondered. Well, I sliced it open, didn’t I? Used a Severing Charm; worked like one too. Never thought the locals would be so vicious, did I? And they all stood on the side and watched me fighting this giant bloody spider. Watched like it was the most interesting thing they’d ever seen.”� He shivered, “Never forget the looks on their faces.”� 

There was a silence. George and Izzy — predictably — looked horrified and admiring. My grandma watched Nelson carefully. I went right on eating the steak we were having for dinner. The silence continued and eventually, I decided to show Nelson that he wasn’t so brave after all, fighting a giant spider. So what? 

“Some people at Hogwarts did that,”� I said calmly, cutting off another chunk of steak and popping it in my mouth, chewing it slowly. 

“Did what?”� Nelson asked, astonished that I’d actually addressed him directly. 

“Fought an Acromantula. The Triwizard Tournament, in my fourth year.”� 

“Oh, I heard about that, of course,”� Nelson said dismissively. “Couldn’t believe it myself when I heard they were continuing with it. The Tournament’s a dangerous thing.”� He took a drink of wine and watched me carefully. 

“You’ll know the people who entered were only eighteen then,”� I said pleasantly. “How old did you say you were when you fought with that spider? Oh, actually, Harry Potter was only fourteen, so I suppose that doesn’t make your story too incredible really.”� 

Nelson flushed darkly. He scowled at his plate then took a deep breath and forced his face into a painful smile. 

“Harry Potter is an extraordinary boy,”� he said. “And so were the other three. Viktor Krum! When I heard that, I thought, Hogwarts it going to get some serious publicity this year!”� 

“Yeah well, we can’t all go around kissing Potter’s ass,”� I said sweetly. 

He stared at me, taken aback; I looked straight back without blinking. Nelson dropped his gaze first, just like I’d expected him to. He is so predictable, it’s pathetic. 

“Blaise, why can’t you just accept that I’m back?”� he asked suddenly. The table fell quiet. Even I was startled. “You can’t still hate me for leaving Sarah.”� 

I’m sorry, _what_ did he just say? I couldn’t hate him for leaving me and my mom? Well, unfortunately for him, he doesn’t get to decide that. 

“Yes, I do,”� I spat. “You were my father. You were supposed to stay with me and mom. You were supposed to _be there_. And you weren’t. So, I’m afraid I can’t accept the fact that you’re trying to worm your way back into my life.”� 

A long, long silence followed. Nelson sent my grandma a furtive glare, as though this was all her fault, and George and Izzy glanced at each other uncomfortably. I, however, met Nelson’s gaze with contempt, and managed an amiable smirk. It was as if I was venting my frustration at Nelson to disguise the fact that my life at Hogwarts is currently in a mess. 

That night, I went straight to my room after dinner was over and done with. There seemed little point in staying downstairs, listening to more scarcely credible tales of outstanding courage from Nelson, and listening to George and Izzy gasp and laugh with admiration for his acts of bravery. Nelson and I only seem to spark off each other and arguing with him is barely worth my time, never mind the effort. 

So I spent the rest of the holidays upstairs in my room, avoiding everyone and writing letters to Draco, yet never actually sending one off to him. It seems pointless to make pathetic small talk when I want say so much more. So instead, I wrote a few letters to Lydia, telling her the sudden developments on the father front, resisting the urge to tell her everything about Jeff and Pansy, and just generally venting off on her. 

It wasn’t until the last week of the holidays that I actually spent longer than a few minutes downstairs with George, Izzy, my grandma and Nelson. 

It had been a particularly hot day, and the evening was humid and muggy, with a hint of thunder in the stale air. George and Izzy had decided to have dinner outside on the gazebo-type platform, and since it really was too stifling inside, we all agreed. 

We were halfway through a nice, light salad when Izzy asked me curiously how things were going with Draco. I didn’t really want to answer with Nelson there, but I figured it would be rude not to answer the question, especially when Izzy was being so nice in the first place. 

“Well, we had a bit of an argument before the holidays,”� I admitted, “but I think we’re okay for now.”� Talk about wishful thinking.

George, Izzy and my grandma all smiled in this nostalgic, dreamy way, and I flushed, knowing exactly what they were thinking. Nelson, however, sat up sharply. 

“Who’s this Draco?”� he asked rudely. 

“Not that it’s any of _your_ business,”� I said loftily, “but he’s my boyfriend.”� 

“Do I know his family?”� Nelson questioned further. 

“Probably, he’s a Malfoy.”� 

His eyes darkened and he frowned. I raised my eyebrows at the reaction, but when I began to say something, he cut in brusquely. 

“My daughter is not dating a Malfoy! I thought you two knew better!”� he suddenly shot at George and Izzy. “You know what the Malfoys are like, for Merlin’s sake! Why didn’t you stop her?”� 

They gaped at him wordlessly, wondering, as was I, where the foul part of Nelson’s personality had risen from. Obviously it had always been there, just bubbling beneath the surface. 

“Nelson, we didn’t feel it was our place to tell Blaise who to go out with,”� Izzy said, astonished. “She knows what she’s doing, I’m sure.”� 

“That’s not the point!”� Nelson said, slamming his hand down on the table, making the glasses and cutlery rattle. “He could’ve killed her by now, and Merlin knows a Malfoy would kill anyone given half the chance!”� 

“Now really, Nelson,”� George cut in sharply. “I really don’t think —”� 

“George, who knows Lucius Malfoy better than anyone in this room?”� Nelson broke in. 

George’s silence was enough to confirm who did indeed know Draco’s father best. 

“Exactly,”� Nelson went on. “So I think I’d know a little more than you do about the Malfoys.”� 

It was the first time he’d openly disagreed with George and Izzy, and the first time he’d lost his temper since his arrival. Nelson was certainly ruining their image of him right before their very eyes. I smiled and watched him dig a deeper hole for himself. 

“I didn’t realise you knew him so well,”� Izzy said quietly. “Lucius Malfoy is not someone I thought you’d be involved with.”� 

“I was never involved, Izzy,”� Nelson snapped. “But you know about the time I —”� He cut short suddenly, and gave me and my grandma a furtive glance. It seems Nelson Zabini has got a few secrets I’d like to know. Interesting. 

“Blaise, would you please go and get the dessert?”� Izzy asked suddenly. I opened my mouth to protest, but she looked at me pointedly. “ _Now_ , please?”� 

I scowled and got up from my chair, resisting the temptation to kick it aside, and went back into the house. The low murmur of conversation started up as soon as I’d gone, and I felt a stab of anger that they’d decided to keep something from me. So, instead of going into the kitchen, I tiptoed back to the door, pushed it open slightly, and listened to what they were saying. 

“… and Lucius was there. He was trying to gather up recruits for the Dark Lord; you know, the impressionable ones. The ones without much to lose.”� Nelson paused, and I assumed he’d taken another sip of wine. “I stood at the back, watching everything going on. I saw Lucius talking to this kid, just barely out of Hogwarts, and I figured it was enough. Malfoy saw me coming, and he gave me this smirk, like he was trying to goad me into a fight, or something.”� 

“You didn’t actually get into a brawl with him, did you?”� That was Izzy, her voice was hushed and I could tell Nelson had her hooked on his story. 

“No, no, nothing like that. But he did turn back to the kid he was talking to, and he said ‘Look, I know your parents, boy, and I know that any son of theirs must be a great wizard. Come along to the next meeting, and we’ll show the power you’ll have as a Death Eater, yes?’ 

“Well,”� Nelson went on, “the kid looked scared out of his wits, but you could tell he wanted the power Lucius had promised him, and he nodded, and told Lucius he’d be there.”� 

“And what about you?”� George’s voice sounded half irritated, half intrigued. He was annoyed at Nelson for what he’d said earlier, but he was curious about what he had to say too. 

“I’d heard what Malfoy had said, and when he turned back to me, he said ‘Well, Zabini, it’s time for you to choose now. Which side will you pick?’”� 

There was a long silence and I strained to hear what was said next. 

“And which side did you pick, Nelson?”� To my surprise, my grandma had voiced the question that everyone wanted to know the answer to. 

“To my shame,”� Nelson replied hoarsely, “I was taken in by Malfoy’s words. You see, at Hogwarts, I’d never been a particularly good student. I wasn’t interested in school, you see, so I just coasted through, doing enough work to pass, but no more. So when Lucius talked of power, I admit it, I was hooked.”� Even from inside the house, I heard him sigh heavily. “So, I went along to the next meeting.”� 

There was a sharp intake of breath at the table, and I had to fight to keep from gasping out loud myself. 

“You joined the Death Eaters?”� Izzy asked in a strangled voice. 

“No,”� Nelson snapped. “I went to the meeting. I didn’t join. I would _never_ join them. I can’t say I didn’t agree with what they said, but I wasn’t prepared to go to the lengths they were to get what I wanted. Only, you don’t just drop out when you feel like it. The Dark Lord expects unwavering loyalty, and when someone would stop turning up to meetings, he’d find them. He’d find them and kill them.”� 

“So what did you do, then?”� George asked quietly. 

“Well, I tried all sorts of different spells to stop them from finding me, and I travelled to America, to see if I could gain refuge there.”� Nelson coughed once, and I heard him put down his knife and fork. “Then I met Sarah.”� 

At first I wanted to go in there, just to see the looks on their faces when I walked in. But then I stopped; I’d wanted to know why my mother would have fallen for someone as utterly fake and pathetic as Nelson Zabini, and here was my chance to hear the story. So I stayed exactly where I was, and kept listening. 

“We met outside of this tiny little coffee shop. It was pouring it down with rain, and she didn’t have an umbrella, so I offered to share mine with her.”� Nelson sighed again. “She was the most incredible person I’ve ever met. When I told her that if I ever disappeared one day, she laughed and said she’d just chalk it up to one of my many secrets. She was just so … happy and carefree; I couldn’t help falling in love with her. We were engaged to be married, a year or so after we met. 

“But I knew I’d put her in the line of fire, as it were, so I backed out. I didn’t have the courage to tell her what I was, so I put it in a letter and left, the night before the wedding. I felt like such a heartless bastard, but what else could I do?”� Nelson now sounded as though he was pleading with someone. Most probably my grandma. 

“Eleanor, you know the rest. Sarah was pregnant with Blaise. With my daughter. I knew it was a mistake to get involved with anyone, much less a Muggle, but I couldn’t help wanting to see my own child. So when you contacted me,”� he said to my grandma, “I knew at once that Blaise was a witch. I had thought about it, and desperately hoped that she wasn’t, because it meant that my own daughter could be in danger too. So I disappeared to South Africa, and I’ve lived there ever since, 'til now.”� 

The most deafening silence followed this speech, and Izzy wasn’t the only one caught up in the story. It was the first time I’d ever stopped to consider the reasons why Nelson had left me and my mom. I felt absurdly guilty for not giving him a chance, but really, why should I? Alright, he had his reasons — and good ones too — but it would’ve been nice to have known about him. To have known that he was out there somewhere, and that one day, I would eventually see him again. 

But then, that’s exactly what happened, isn’t it? And look how that turned out. Apparently, Nelson Zabini isn’t the biggest shit that ever graced the planet, no matter how much I want him to be. 

I figured I’d been gone long enough, so I raced back into the kitchen, grabbed the dessert, and went back outside to the table. I put it down, and took my seat again, noticing all the while, that still, no one had said a word. They gave each other uncomfortable looks when they thought I wasn’t looking, but I saw them. 

“You heard every word that was said, didn’t you, Blaise?”� George asked, his lips twitching in amusement. 

I thought about lying, but really, what was the point? They already knew I’d been listening at the door, so what would be gained by saying I hadn’t? 

“Yes,”� I said, slightly shamefaced, but defiant all the same. 

“Well, I hope that’s shed some light on why I did what I did,”� Nelson said awkwardly. 

I nodded but stayed silent. Really, there was no point in pretending I now understood why he left, especially when I was still in two minds about the whole thing. But still, I’m beginning to realise some of what he went through. 

Later that night, I was in my room, getting through the last of my holiday homework, when there was a knock at the door. I hesitated for a second — I was so close to finishing my Potions essay, after all — but then I figured it was probably my grandma, checking to see if I was okay. 

“Come in,”� I said absent-mindedly, flicking through the notes spread out on my bed. 

The door opened and I looked up. Nelson stood in the doorway, and my face fell. He didn’t look too eager either, but he took my invitation as though it was still open, and stepped in the room. He stood there for a few seconds, before finally dragging a chair over to my bed and sitting down in it. 

There were a few seconds of uncertainty on his part, while I merely searched for the right passage in my textbook. He coughed; I looked up, and saw he was twisting the hem of his shirt between his fingers, so I stopped working and gave him a pointed glance. 

“What?”� I said flatly. 

“I just …”� Nelson began, but he trailed off. “I think I overreacted to you dating Lucius Malfoy’s kid.”� 

“Oh?”� I said curiously. 

“Yeah. Listen, Blaise; I don’t want you to think I’m interfering or anything, but just … be careful, okay?”� 

“Will do,”� I said casually, and went back to my homework. 

“It’s just that you’re my daughter, and despite whatever you might think, I do care about you. I cared for Sarah, too. So much.”� 

That struck a chord in my chest, and I knew it was finally time to let go of my anger and accept that Nelson was back. 

“I know,”� I said softly. “And I really wish it was that easy.”� 

“It can be,”� he said with an encouraging smile. 

“Yeah, I know … It’s just …”� 

“What? What is it?”� 

“Try and think about it this way: for ten years, my mother barely cared for me at all. I didn’t know a thing about fathers, and I always decided that since everyone had one, and I didn’t, well, I didn’t want one.”� I paused for a moment, then continued. “And then mom died. My grandma took me in, I went to Hogwarts, and suddenly I began to wonder why you weren’t there. It hurt, you know, to watch people get presents from their mothers and fathers, and know that I had neither.”� 

“God, Blaise, don’t you think I know that?”� Nelson stood up in his agitation. “I relive the day I walked out every time I close my eyes. I knew that it would be hard for you. Hell, I knew it would be hard for everyone involved. But I thought Sarah would cope, I really did.”� 

He flopped back down into the chair, the very picture of a defeated man, and I felt a surge of pity for him. He wasn’t to know that my mom would become an alcoholic, I suppose. I can hardly blame him for what he did, but at the same time, I’m not going to commend him on his noble deed, because for all that it _is_ noble, it’s still something that I’m not going to forgive him for in hurry. 

“I’d like to bury the past,”� Nelson said hopefully. “Because that’s what it is - the past.”� 

“So would I,”� I said earnestly. “But it’s not going to be as easy as I’d like it. I’ll have to accept you as an actual person, before I accept you as my dad.”� 

“I suppose that’s as much as I can ask right now.”� 

He seemed pleased with my decision, even though it wasn’t much of one. My guess is that he’s happy I’m going to stop being a bitch to him. So am I, come to think of it. I’d really like to be on good terms with him. 

He stood up just then, and glanced down at my homework. 

“I’ll leave you to it,”� he said with a smile. “What is it? Ah, Potions …”� He leant over and looked over my shoulder at my essay. “Never did like Potions,”� he said thoughtfully. “I always thought there was no point to it. I mean, how many times in your life are you going to have to recite the twelve uses of dragon’s blood? Or know the exact composition of some obscure potion?”� 

I glanced up at him in surprise. That was the exact same reason I didn’t like Potions. Well, that and Snape, but that’s not the point. I couldn’t believe I had something so trivial in common with him. There really are things about Nelson that I’d like to know. 

“And Snape’s a real bastard, too,”� I grinned. 

“Snape … Snape …”� Nelson glanced at the ceiling in thought. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”� 

“I don’t know, maybe you went to school with him?”� I suggested. 

“Hmm, maybe,”� he said, but he didn’t look thoroughly convinced. I shrugged and assumed the identity of Snape was still bugging him. “Well, anyway,”� Nelson went on. “You’d better get back to your homework.”� 

“You sound like my grandma,”� I laughed. 

“Maybe in a few years, I’ll sound like your father,”� he said wistfully. 

I shrugged again, and said, “Yeah, maybe.”� It was all I could do not to add that he shouldn’t get his hopes up. 

He left then, after bidding me goodnight, and I went on with my homework. I smiled at the thought that I was actually getting on with my father, and wrote down another formula for the Draught of Peace.


	19. A Surprising Annoucement

**Chapter 19**

**A Surprising Announcement.**

If I thought making up with my dad was hard, making up with Draco was undoubtedly going to be almost impossible. Especially since I hadn’t sent him a single letter over the summer; well, I _was_ waiting for him to make the first move. 

Anyway, I saw Draco on the train in September. He was sitting with his arm around Pansy. I managed not to cry right there, but once I got back to my compartment — I was sharing with Lydia, but Jeff was off with some of his friends — I burst into tears and Lydia knew at once what was wrong. So I spent the entire journey alternating between crying and staring out of the train window aimlessly, while Lydia chattered in the background. 

Right, I’m being pathetic; so what if Draco and Pansy are getting all cosy together again? It’s not like it’s the end of the world. It just means Draco is still the same person he was in our first year, and Pansy will always be a stupid, conniving slut. 

Once we were seated in the Great Hall, and the Sorting was over and done with, the feast began. I picked at my food, simultaneously feeling sick and starving at the same time. Draco and Pansy were — surprise, surprise — seated at the other end of the table, talking amongst themselves quietly. Rather than look at them, I stared moodily at my plate, viciously carving lines into the wooden table in anger. 

Lydia kept glancing at me worriedly through dinner, until Jeff sauntered down to our end of the table and sat with us. Lydia immediately turned her back on me, and chattered happily with him, and when dinner was over, she and Jeff walked off, leaving me behind. 

Up in our dormitory, Pansy was talking quietly with Millicent Bulstrode. When I walked in, they stopped quickly and began unpacking their stuff, but I know they were talking about me. You’d have to be thicker than a troll not to realise that. 

A while later, Lydia danced in. I was curled up in bed; Pansy and Millicent were still talking in those same hushed voices over in the corner. 

“Hi Pansy, Millicent,”� Lydia practically sang in greeting. I stared at her. So did Pansy and Millicent. 

They gave a cautious hello, then went back to talking. I glared at Lydia as she sat on the end of my bed. 

“What?”� she asked innocently, as though she hadn’t just stabbed me in the back repeatedly. 

“Oh nothing,”� I said sarcastically. “Nothing at all.”� 

“Is this about Malfoy?”� Lydia asked after a pause. 

“No,”� I almost shouted. “This is about our friendship!”� 

“Blaise … what are you talking about?”� 

Lydia stared at me helplessly, as though she really couldn’t figure out why I was so angry with her. To tell the truth, I really don’t know why I’m shouting at her. She’s just happy and in love, and I can’t bear to see everyone else happy when I’m not. I know it’s selfish, but I’m sick of caring. 

Instead of answering her, I pulled the blankets tighter around me. Lydia was still watching me, bewildered. 

“What are you talking about?”� she asked again, her voice quiet. 

“Nothing,”� I muttered. “Just … just forget it.”� 

“No! Tell me what you meant!”� 

I rolled over in bed, desperate to avoid her eyes. It’s not that I was ashamed — although I pretty much was — but I was afraid I’d tell her about what Pansy and Jeff had done last year. Lydia didn’t need to know that, so I needed to keep my mouth shut. 

I think Pansy must have realised what I was trying not to say, because she suddenly cut Millicent off, and reached over to tap Lydia on the arm. Lydia whirled around, saw Pansy, and asked, “What?”� rather more forcefully than she’d intended, I think. 

Pansy smiled sympathetically, while I glared at her darkly. “Lydia, maybe it’s best if you leave Blaise alone.”� 

“What?”� Lydia said again, narrowing her eyes at Pansy’s sudden concern for someone other than herself. 

“She’s in a bad state right now, what with —”� Pansy broke off, beckoning Lydia forwards, “- what with me and Draco getting back together.”� 

She said it in a whisper, but I heard it alright. Rather than give Pansy the benefit of seeing me lose it with her, I sniffed haughtily. 

“You’re welcome to him,”� I shrugged. “I’m sure he’s only after a bit of _mindless_ fun, anyway.”� 

That seemed to incense her more than punching her would have done. Her face turned a dark shade of red, and she gave me a look that would ordinarily have made me want to slap her face, but now it just made me laugh. 

Lydia gave me a questioning look, but I ignored her. I was just suddenly so tired that I laid back down, falling asleep almost as soon as my head touched the pillow.

***

It wasn’t until the morning that I thought about what Pansy had said. So. She and Draco really _were_ back together. Fine, I can deal with that. And even if I can’t, I’ll have to.

Breakfast was the usual noisy affair; without a word I sat down next to Lydia, pulling a plate of bacon and eggs towards me. Lydia said nothing either, and I wondered if we’d made an unspoken agreement not to talk about what happened last night. Which is just as well, really, because I’m not sure I want to. 

So, first lesson was Charms and I walked with Lydia to Professor Flitwick’s classroom. When we got there, we found Pansy in my seat, chattering loudly to Morag MacDougal, the only Ravenclaw _worthy_ enough to be friends with a Slytherin. 

This was the last straw: first she’d taken away the privilege of going into Hogsmeade — well, she may as well have — then she’d taken away my boyfriend, and now she was just taking my seat. Well, sure it’s not the end of the world, but it’s damn annoying and Pansy needs to be dealt with. 

So I stormed up to her, fixing her with such a hate-filled glare that Morag actually backed away. Not that I was in any mood to care. Pansy stared at me evenly, not moving from my seat and not saying anything. 

“You’re in my seat,”� I said quietly, but I was trying to stop the anger coming through. 

“So?”� Pansy sneered. “Find another.”� 

“No, I sit in this one,”� I argued back. 

“Well, tough. I’m sitting here.”� 

I leant forwards, close enough so that she couldn’t miss a thing. 

“Pansy, I don’t give a damn about your personal vendetta against me. For that matter, I don’t give a damn about that ugly pug-face of yours, either.”� I smirked as her face twisted into an angry grimace. “Get the hell out of my seat before I make you,”� I added, still in an undertone so Flitwick wouldn’t hear me. 

With a disgusted look, Pansy flounced out of my seat and into another at the back. I wasn’t going to kid myself into thinking that she’d gotten up because of my threat. No, Pansy isn’t easily threatened, that I do know. 

After Charms, I had Arithmancy and Draco’s in that class, which was just brilliant. Lydia wasn’t in that class, but actually, I was pretty glad of that. We’d exchanged conversation, yeah, but it was only about homework, as though we were barely friends. 

I sat in my usual seat, at the back — thankfully, Pansy isn’t in Arithmancy either — keeping my eyes resolutely away from the back of Draco’s head. He didn’t look around either, but then, he didn’t talk as much as he usually would have done. 

About halfway through the lesson, I was distracted by a loud whisper. Theodore Nott, one of the other Slytherin sixth years, was trying to catch Draco’s attention. He succeeded, of course; Draco’s biggest failing has to be his insatiable curiosity. 

“Hey, Draco!”� Theodore hissed, when Professor Vector was busy with one of the Hufflepuffs. 

I saw Draco turn slightly in his seat and say, “What?”� 

“I heard you’re back with Pansy,”� Theodore answered, glancing over at Vector to make sure she was still preoccupied with another student. 

“Yeah, so?”� Draco said coolly. 

“Good on you,”� Theodore grinned. “Better than that other bird you had.”� 

I bristled in my seat, but rather than get up and pound Theodore’s head into his desk, I slouched further down into the hard-backed wooden chair. 

Glaring at the sheet of parchment, I heard Draco say, “Thanks,”� but he didn’t sound too enthusiastic. 

I feel like screaming. For Merlin’s sake, is everyone just out to piss me off today? First Pansy, now Theodore Nott! It’d be nice to get a break sometime. 

Anyway, after Arithmancy, the bell rang for break and I ran out of that classroom so fast, I knocked into a few people. Stumbling backwards, and making a mad grab for my bag, which was slipping off my shoulder, I opened my mouth to shout abuse at the people I’d walked into. 

Which, of course, I would’ve done, had I not been distracted by Draco’s agitated voice. 

“Potter, are you blind as well as mental?”� he practically shouted. 

Everyone stared, including me. Potter and his friends, Granger and Weasley, were just as nonplussed as I was. It was this, plus all the shit I’d had to deal with yesterday and today, that made me toss a sneer in Draco’s direction. 

“Fuck, Draco, I didn’t know you cared,”� I spat. 

There was a small ripple of laughter from the crowd that had stopped to see the action. Even Potter, Weasley and Granger managed a smile. Draco, however, didn’t so much as blink. Before I knew it, he’d stormed off in the opposite direction, leaving an astonished crowd in his wake. 

I thought about slinking away unnoticed, but I now had three inquisitive Gryffindors to contend with. Ignoring them completely, however, I headed off to the Slytherin common room without a backward glance. 

I suppose it was too much to hope that Draco and I still had a chance together.

***

The first week back at school is always a nightmare, but it’s never this bad. Without Draco, I’ve got nothing to do while Lydia’s off snogging Jeff. Pansy’s still having those intensely private chats with Draco, I’m still not allowed in the village and my first bit of homework is late. Oh, but Millicent Bulstrode is dating a seventh year named Mason Something-or-Other, which, you know, is pretty exciting stuff. _Not_.

Speaking of Millicent … she and Pansy are staring my way right now, and strangely they haven’t got the familiar looks of scorn on their faces. Ha, now there’s a miracle. Millicent is nudging Pansy sharply with her thick elbows and scowling in her typically blunt way. Pansy keeps nodding and saying, “Yeah, alright, Millie, I know!”� 

Eventually, after _Millie_ had nudged Pansy about ten or twenty times, Pansy glanced around the common room, then started making her way over to me. I was so shocked that a) Pansy would even _bother_ coming anywhere near me, and b) that she’d think I wouldn’t end up punching her ugly lights out. 

So it was with equal amounts of trepidation, curiosity and anger that I watched her as she sat down gingerly on the other end of the sofa I was sitting on. 

“Hello,”� she said awkwardly. 

“What d’you want?”� I said bluntly, because there had to be a reason Pansy was talking to me like I was a human being. 

This seemed to stop her in her tracks, and she glanced around nervously at Millicent, who stared stonily back. 

“I-I … there’s something I need to tell you,”� Pansy said eventually. “It’s about Draco.”� 

“Right,”� I said sarcastically, because, obviously this was bullshit. “I’m sure there is.”� 

“Er …”� That’s weird, I’ve never known Pansy to hesitate over her words. But I put it down to her conniving ways, and glared at her for good measure. 

“Yeah?”� I said, with a touch of belligerence. 

“Look, you know how I’ve been talking to him the past couple of days?”� she eventually burst out impatiently. I nodded. “Well, it was about you — every single conversation was about you. Draco couldn’t go two words without mentioning your name.”� 

I stared at her, waiting for her to laugh in that cold, malicious way of hers, and for her to run back over to Millicent, and watch as they giggled over my stupidity. But she didn’t. She simply met my blank look with a steady gaze, and gave a sort of wistful smile. 

“It’s true,”� she said quietly. “I did try to manipulate him into … forgetting about you. Ha, fat chance.”� She said this last part a bit too bitterly for my liking, but I was still stunned by what she was saying. 

“W-what d’you mean?”� I croaked, my vocal chords having lost the ability to talk in my surprise. 

“Draco fancies you like mad,”� Pansy said frankly. “Always has. D’you know what the last thing he said to me was?”� I shook my head, obviously, since I had no idea. “He said that his best dress robes reminded him of your hair.”� She made a disgusted face. “He is sick-makingly in love with you, Blaise. It’s ridiculous, the effect you have on him.”� 

“B-but he … and he wouldn’t —”� I spluttered. 

“Oh for the love of Merlin!”� Pansy sighed exasperatedly. “Put him out of his misery and get back with him! I’ve known Draco for fifteen years now, and it’s so not like him to lust after a girl he _supposedly_ doesn’t like.”� 

“But what should I do?”� I asked, completely ignoring the fact that this was Pansy I was talking to and asking the advice of. 

“Well, for starters, you could get your arse up off this sofa and go find him,”� Pansy grinned. “And then I’d say a little making up would do the trick.”� She gave me a gentle nudge towards the stone wall that lead out of the common room. 

“Um …”� I muttered, because just earlier I’d been threatening her with violence. “Why are you —”� 

“Because I’m sick of hearing Draco mention everything about you. It’s bloody annoying!”� 

“Oh,”� I said quietly, a warm feeling creeping into my stomach. It took me a second to realise that it was happiness. Pure, inexorable happiness. I almost laughed out loud, but I jumped up instead. 

“I’m going to go and find him,”� I said hurriedly to Pansy, with no idea why I was telling _her_ of all people. She smiled knowingly as I half-ran out of the common room. 

Once out in the corridor though, I faltered. It was one thing to say I was going to find Draco, but it was another thing entirely to actually _find_ him in a castle as big as Hogwarts. I mean, there are rooms that no one’s ever been in, and others that keep changing around when you leave them. And then there are others that only let you in at a certain time; it’s _crazy_ , but that’s Hogwarts for you. 

Okay, so where would I go if I was Draco? Stupid question: he’d be off bullying some of the lower years, just because he’s in a bad mood and because he _can. Stupid git_ , I thought fondly, setting off to search for him. 

I eventually found him on the fifth floor. He was bullying someone, but it definitely wasn’t any younger kid. Draco, being who he was, hadn’t picked a fight with someone below sixth year, oh no; that would have been far too easy. Instead, being Draco, he was currently in the middle of a heated verbal spar with Potter and his mates. Typical. 

Pressing myself against the wall, I listened carefully to what they were saying. 

“… ‘cause you girlfriend can’t stand the sight of you, doesn’t mean you have to force yourself on everyone else.”� 

Ouch. Weasley had certainly struck a nerve with that jibe. I sneaked a glance around the corner, expecting to see Weasley’s unconscious body fall to the floor. 

Instead, I saw Draco laugh mockingly even as the remark stung. 

“She’s not my girlfriend Weasel, so I think you should take that back,”� he said darkly, taking his wand out. 

It's interesting to feel the different effects Draco has on me, you know. Listening to him now, I get this pathetic little shiver of anticipation just from the dark tone of his voice. If I wasn't so keen on getting him back, I'd probably kill him for what he does to me. 

“Nah, I don’t think I will,”� Weasley said cockily, and I almost wanted Draco to hex him into next week for being like that. 

“Take. It. Back.”� Even Potter could see that Draco was serious this time. 

“Er, Ron, maybe we should just — ”� Granger started to say soothingly, but Weasley cut her off. 

“What can he do, Hermione? If he so much as waves his wand at us, he’s in for it. I don’t see any problem.”� 

“Ron, c’mon. Malfoy’s being an arse, it doesn’t mean you have to, as well,”� Potter spoke up and started trying to pull Weasley away. 

Stepping away from the wall and into the furore in the corridor, I coolly observed Potter, Granger and Weasley’s identical looks of curiosity. Draco barely threw a glance in my direction, but I was about to remedy that. 

“Granger, I don’t know about you,”� I started, talking to the only one with a bit of sense, “but I’m getting pretty fed up of the testosterone around here.”� 

Granger fixed Weasley with a sharp look. 

“See, even she knows how much of an idiot you’re being,”� she snapped at him. 

Weasley muttered something, but I stopped listening. My entire attention was fixed on Draco, who was trying not to notice that I was looking at him. 

I sidled up to him casually, looping an arm through his. He looked around at me, eyebrows raised and a small smirk appearing at the corners of his mouth. 

“Draco, I thought you knew you aren’t supposed to pick fights with unfair advantages?”� I grinned. “You could’ve done some damage to Potter and Weasley here.”� 

“D’you know Blaise,”� he said, “I think they would’ve done more damage to themselves.”� 

I heard a splutter of rage from Weasley as Potter and Granger began to drag him away. 

“Fair enough,”� I shrugged. “Anyway, I think it’s about time we left, don’t you?”� 

“Well, we clearly have things to talk about,”� he murmured, catching my drift immediately. “So I’d say you were right.”� 

I think we managed about thirty seconds before we practically _jumped_ on each other. And even then, it felt like an age before I was jammed up against a wall, Draco's mouth hot on mine, my fingers tangled in his hair. 

In between kisses, I mumbled breathless apologies that made no sense whatsoever, and Draco explained that, after my fight with Pansy, he hadn't been angry at me, but at Pansy. He said he was so infuriated at the depths to which she'd sunk to get back at him that he hadn't known which to do first - hex Pansy, or himself for letting her get to him through me. 

"I had words with her, you know," Draco said later, when we were curled up on one of the common room sofas. "I told her she was a spoiled, immature bitch, and that she'd better stop meddling in my love life." 

"And she listened to you?" I asked sceptically. If there's one thing I know about Pansy, it's that she doesn't respond to verbal threats. 

"I think it was the hex I used on her, actually," Draco said, with a small smile, but he refused to say exactly which spell he had used on her. 

I got the impression that Pansy would never be the same again.


	20. Warning Signs

**Chapter 20**

**Warning Signs**

Despite the fact that I’m back with Draco, and that Pansy and I are on okay terms, Lydia still isn’t speaking to me. I’ve tried everything — approaching her when she was doing homework, trying to get her to talk to me late at night, chattering mindlessly at mealtimes. Hell, I even sent her a damn letter, by owl, but she still won’t talk to me. 

But anyway, how can I be worried when Christmas is so close? I’ll be going home, as usual, this year, but strangely, Draco’s staying here. He vaguely mentioned some homework he’d put off until the last minute, and I didn’t really want to push the issue, considering we’ve only just gotten back together and things are still a bit rocky. 

You know, it’s funny, but I haven’t thought once about going to Hogsmeade this year. In fact, I probably wouldn’t have thought about it at all, if Draco hadn’t brought it up. He asked me if I wanted to go into the village with him, then he remembered that I couldn’t go. But the idea was in my head by then, and I flat out refused to stay behind while everyone else had fun in Hogsmeade. For some reason, Draco kept saying I shouldn’t go, but I brushed it off, thinking he was just worried about me getting caught. 

Turns out I was wrong. Dead wrong. 

Anyway, I have an ulterior motive to go to Hogsmeade. Lydia might think she and Jeff are meant to be, or something, but I certainly don’t. So in the village, I’m going to go and see George and ask him if he still likes Lydia or not. I’m hoping he still does, because I’ll take any excuse to get rid of Jeff. 

Which reminds me — Pansy. Yeah, she did originally set out to hurt me — and split me and Draco up, obviously — but it takes to two tango, so I guess, although she’s not blameless, it’s not all her fault. Jeff has a very persuasive personality, it turns out. But I’m not suddenly going to claim Pansy is, like, a saint or anything, so I suppose things are pretty much normal. 

As it turned out, I didn’t get to go to the village that weekend. I had a Transfiguration essay that I’d completely forgotten about, for some reason, and it was going to take me hours to even start it, never mind finish it. 

So I said goodbye to Draco at the foot of the marble staircase, and then made my way up to the Library for some serious hard work. There was a table at the back of the Library, and I sat there, holed up behind the shelves containing books on History of Magic and Divination, which are easily the most pointless subjects at Hogwarts. I could’ve sat nearer the Transfiguration section, but there were a few too many fourth years over there, giggling madly, to concentrate much. 

I got back to the common room that night to find it buzzing with the most incredible story. A seventh year Gryffindor had been attacked. Not attacked in the normal sense of the word; more like ambushed. She’d been given a package, apparently, by some mysterious stranger who hasn’t been identified yet. She and her friend were fighting over it — or something like that — and then the girl — Gryffindor Chaser, Katie Bell — sort of hovered in the air for a few seconds, as though she’d been hit by a curse. Weird. It gives me the creeps just thinking about it. 

I found Draco over in the corner, on his own. Pretty unusual, since you can always find Draco in the thick of things. Come to mention it, he looks strangely pale and tired, but I put that down to the cold that he claims he must be getting. He did look pretty ill, so I didn’t say anything else. 

Over the next few weeks, Draco continued to look horribly pallid, and occasionally, immensely stressed. It’s as though there’s some shadow hanging over him, and no matter how much I ask him about it, he just brushes it off, and tells me it’s nothing he can’t handle. 

I don’t know when I first had this thought, or why I’m even entertaining it, but Draco’s strange behaviour all started about the time that Gryffindor was cursed, or whatever. Something about the whole situation is wrong, but I can’t seem to figure out what it is. The only thing that does stick in my mind, is that Draco is, in someway, involved in the attack on Katie Bell. 

But that’s ridiculous, of course; how would Draco have been able to curse her? He’s sixteen years old, and no sixteen year old knows enough magic to perform a spell like the one that got Bell. I’m just being paranoid. 

With each day, more news of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named reaches Hogwarts. And every time some new tidbit of information arrives, the Slytherin common room bursts into cheers and applause. They seem to think that You-Know-Who has the right idea by killing Muggle-borns, yet Draco, as big a pureblood as any, doesn't seem as pleased as he should be. 

I wonder if this is connected to the fact that he's more withdrawn and pale these days. I know it must be, somehow, because he's never been like this before; he barely talks to me anymore, and whenever I ask him what's going on, he just mutters something under his breath and starts talking about homework. I want him to tell me what's wrong, I want him to realise that I'm right there, waiting for him to acknowledge me. But I don't think it's going to be that simple. 

A funny thing happened the other day; Pansy came over to me and actually talked to me of her own volition. True, we are arguing less these days and I don't really mind her that much anymore, but still, it's weird that she's willing to talk to me. 

Anyway, I was sat on the sofa in front of the fire in the Slytherin common room, when she sat down next to me. I glanced at her; she looked anxious about something. 

"What's wrong?" I asked curiously. I've never seen that kind of worry on her face before. 

"Blaise," she murmured so quietly I had to lean forwards to hear her, "if I tell you something, will you promise not to repeat it to anyone?" 

Surprised by her request, I blinked a few times. She waited intently for my answer. 

"Okay," I said slowly, perplexed. 

Pansy sighed heavily, looking down at her hands. "You remember you asked me why I was so eager for you and Draco to get back together?" 

I nodded uncertainly; was she about to tell me that she wanted Draco back? 

"And I said that I was just fed up of seeing him so miserable?" 

"Yeah ..." I said suspiciously. 

"Well ... I lied." 

My heart jumped into my throat as she said that; I should have known that Pansy wouldn't be true to her word! I am such a fool for even thinking she was telling the truth. 

"Really?" I said coldly. 

"Yes." Pansy paused for a second, glancing around the common room, as though she didn't want to be overheard. Then she went on, "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that you two are together. It's just ... I was worried about Draco." 

"Oh?" I asked, narrowing my eyes, but I could feel my icy tone relenting. 

"I can't tell you exactly what's wrong, because Draco would kill me," she said quickly. "But the reason I wanted you to get back with him was ... he's done something that could get him into an awful lot of trouble if he gets found out." 

She stopped, and there was a silence broken only by the background chatter of the common room. I stared at her incomprehensively; for some reason, I couldn't seem to understand what she was saying. 

"What are you saying?" I managed to say eventually. 

"I'm saying," Pansy whispered fearfully, "that you need to be careful. You're the only person Draco would do anything for, and that's what's going to save him." 

Her blunt tone startled me into silence once more. She was about to say more, when her eyes widened and she jumped out of her seat, after a meaningful glance at me. 

Next moment, Draco had dropped onto the sofa beside me. 

"You and Pansy the best of friends now?" he asked, his voice sounding amused. 

"No," I said casually, though it was somewhat forced. "But she's ... tolerable." 

"I don't know," Draco said thoughtfully, "you two looked pretty friendly over here." 

"Trust me," I smiled, "we will not be sharing girly secrets anytime soon." 

But she'd already told me something she wasn't supposed to. What do I do? Should I believe her; she did sound really serious after all. Maybe I should just ignore the whole incident. Pansy has never done anything to help me before ... 

_Except get you back together with Draco_ , said a voice in the back of my head. 

_I wouldn't have needed to get back with Draco if it hadn't been for her, in the first place_ , argued another voice. 

Either way, though, I'm still not entirely sure if I can trust Pansy. She's Slytherin to the core; sly, cunning, manipulative. She'd do anything to get what she wanted. Maybe this was one of those times ...  

The fact remains that Draco's up to something. He won't tell me until he's ready and God knows when that'll be. If it's truly something serious that could get him into trouble, then I'll have to tell someone who can stop him. 

When I went to bed that night, my head throbbed painfully; I'd been deep in thought all day and now I was paying for it. And I hadn't even come to a decision about both Pansy and Draco. A wasted day. 

The next was a nightmare. Lydia finally found out that Jeff had cheated on her. Well, that's not strictly true; Jeff discovered that Lydia had kissed George last year and he went mad. Until I went over to see what he was shouting at my best friend for, and found out that he was calling Lydia a slut and a cheating bitch. 

I walked in on them at around midday; it was a warm, April Saturday, and Draco and I had spent the earlier hours outside by the lake. Walking into the shaded common room was bizarrely chilling as I saw Jeff by the fireplace, Lydia sitting on the sofa. Jeff's face was bright red, his eyes blazing with anger. Lydia was the complete opposite; pale and tight-lipped, her light brown eyes tinged with sadness. 

"All this time you've been hiding this dirty little secret," Jeff said furiously. "You dirty fucking whore ... but then I suppose if you weren't, you wouldn't be after Weasley, would you?" 

The sadness disappeared from Lydia's eyes as soon as the words left Jeff's mouth. She stood up, just inches shorter than her boyfriend, hands clenched by her sides and teeth gritted in anger. 

"Don't you dare insult George!" she shouted. "It was the one and only time and I've been cut up about it since! And how _dare_ you call me a whore?!”� 

"I should've known you were a slag from the start," Jeff said venomously. "No wonder everybody is so eager to get with you; you're just an easy slut, aren't you?" 

Before Lydia slapped his smarmy fucking face, I intervened. Not, of course, that it wouldn't serve Jeff right to have his nose broken. 

"Yeah, but you like girls who are easy, don't you Jeff?" I asked pleasantly, and his mouth dropped open, panic flaring in his eyes. "You especially liked Pansy." 

"Blaise, you stay out of -" Lydia began, but she stopped as soon as my words sunk in. "What?" she whispered. 

"Go on, tell her," I prompted Jeff. "Tell her about Pansy. Tell her how you went behind her back. Tell her how you -" 

"Enough!" Lydia snapped. "Blaise, you're not helping! Jeff," she turned, her face contorted with rage, "you'd better start talking." 

And so the story came out: how Jeff had been sneaking off with Pansy at every given moment, how he'd given no second thought to his girlfriend, instead preferring to fool around with Pansy. Their antics made me sick, and if that’s how I felt, what must Lydia feel like? 

The answer to that came just ten minutes later. 

After Jeff had finished his story, I looked at Lydia — who was still extremely shell-shocked at the news — and thought about saying something. But I couldn’t. For one thing, there was nothing I could say, and for another … 

I was as guilty as Pansy and Jeff, for not telling her sooner. 

I’d had hundreds of opportunities to tell her what was going on behind her back, and I hadn’t. I’d stood back and watched it all happening, even while she was still oblivious. I could’ve warned her earlier, so that it wouldn’t seem so shocking when Jeff finally admitted it. I should’ve confronted Jeff myself, told Pansy to back off, done something, other than just let it all unfold in front of me. 

But I hadn’t. And that was the greatest crime of all. 

Lydia seemed to think that, too, because, when I went to hug her, she jerked back from my arms and gave me a look of hurt and betrayal. That look killed me; it really did. And from then on, I knew I could do nothing to make it up to her. Nothing would ever be good enough for her forgiveness. 

She turned and fled upstairs to our dormitory. I thought about following her, but there seemed little point in doing so. Jeff gave me a look of loathing and stormed out of the common room, through the stone wall. I was left to sit on the sofa furthest from the fireplace, and contemplate why my life suddenly seemed to be going so wrong. 

It only got worse the following day. 

Draco and I were sitting on the same sofa, talking occasionally, and kissing a lot more. He seemed slightly more lively than usual, but that wasn’t really saying much. For the moment, however, I was glad enough that I let it go unnoticed. 

At some point, the gentle warmth of common room — unusual for the dungeons, but then, the weather had been nice for a while now — and the peaceful quiet around us managed to make us doze off. When I woke up, I realised we were still on the sofa, and that it was well past eleven at night. 

I was about to wake Draco up, when something caught my eye. During our sleep, my head had shifted to rest on Draco’s shoulder. Somehow, I had managed to drag the sleeve of the robes on his left arm up. The sight that met my eyes crushed the air out of my lungs. 

The Dark Mark. 

On Draco’s forearm. 

I gasped. The sound was eerily loud in the silent common room, and it shook Draco awake. He looked at me blearily, smiled sleepily at me, and then he frowned when he saw my expression. 

“What?”� he asked, puzzled. 

I could only stare in horror at his forearm, and when his eyes realised what I was transfixed by, he swore loudly and tried to cover it up. 

There was no need for me to say or do anything; Draco knew what I felt without any help from me. His gaze dropped to the floor, and he muttered something. 

“W-what?”� I said, my voice a feeble whisper. 

“I said, I was going to tell you,”� he said, looking up, hope flickering in his eyes. 

“Oh, and that would make it alright?”� I asked sarcastically. 

“I thought you, of all people, would understand why I did this,”� Draco said defensively, pointing at the Mark. 

“You entered His service,”� I accused. “How am I supposed to understand that?”� 

“He would’ve killed me and my parents if I hadn’t. Blaise, please, I wanted to tell you … but I couldn’t.”� 

“You told Pansy,”� I said suddenly, remembering Pansy’s warning the day before. “You told her before you told me.”� 

“Pansy already knew,”� Draco said quietly. “She was there after it … after it happened.”� 

I was silent; what else was there for me to say? Draco had joined You-Know-Who, he hadn’t told me, and wasn’t planning on telling me, by the looks of it. What am I supposed to do now? Another thought occurred to me: everybody knew about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s hatred for Muggles, and I was a half-blood, one of the very few in Slytherin. Did that mean Draco would end up killing people like me? I couldn’t bear the thought, but I needed to hear Draco’s explanation. 

“You know I’m a half-blood,”� I said sadly. “How can you join the Dark Lord, how can you kill people who aren’t pureblood, when you’re dating me? Or does that mean we’re finished?”� I asked angrily, tears springing to my eyes. 

Draco was silent; he looked at his hands for a few seconds, before mumbling, “No, I don’t want to break up with you, Blaise.”� 

“Oh, well thank God for small miracles”� I said sarcastically. “You’re working for someone who despises people like me. You weren’t even going to _tell_ me you’re working for him.”� 

“I couldn’t tell anyone,”� Draco said exasperatedly. 

“You had a choice, and you made it,”� I said heavily. “I think we’re done here.”� 

I stood up, moving toward the stairs that led to my dormitory. Draco grabbed my arms and pulled me around to face him, willing me to understand. 

“Blaise, listen to me,”� he said softly, trying to pull me into a hug. I resisted, pushing him away. “Just … try to see it from my point of view. Aren’t you glad that I’m alive? Don’t you love me enough to realise that I had to do this, if I wanted to _stay_ alive?”� 

“Oh, stop it,”� I bit out. “If this is some pathetic way to find out how I feel about you, then I can tell you in three very short words.”� Draco fell silent, and simply stared at me. “But that’s not what this is about. Do you want this? Do you want to work for Him? Because if you do, then I’m not sure I want to be with you.”� 

With that, I strode across the common room and up the stairs, almost falling into my dormitory. I’m in shock right now, which is probably why I haven’t burst into tears or something, so far. 

In retrospect, I could probably have said something a little less clichéd, but damn it if Draco didn’t get the message. I can’t believe he would do something like this, and all without telling me! I should’ve known something was up at the beginning of the year, when he went all quiet and withdrawn. And it annoys me that Pansy got to know before me, which is the saddest thing about it, really. I mean, I should be worrying over the fact that Draco could be in real trouble if he gets found out by someone in school, but no, I’m fuming over the fact that Pansy knew before I did. God, I feel like such a heartless bitch. 

Which is probably why I can’t summon the energy to feel something other than anger.


	21. Resolutions

**Chapter 21**

**Resolutions.**

I don’t believe this. _I really don’t believe this._

Dumbledore is dead; Snape killed him, apparently on You-Know-Who’s orders. Nobody ever thought Death Eaters would get into the castle, or that Snape was a double-agent, but they did and he is. And get this — _Draco_ was the one who helped the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Then he and Snape disappeared, and now nobody knows where they are. 

Dumbledore’s funeral was held at Hogwarts; he apparently always wanted to be buried in the school grounds. It was held by the lake, on a warm, sunny day, and it would have seemed almost beautiful if it wasn’t for the circumstances surrounding it. I was in such a state of shock that day that I didn’t take much in. I sat between Lydia and Pansy, both of whom were quietly solemn beside me. Pansy didn’t say much to me, though she and Millicent talked in furious whispers after the funeral service. Lydia talked at length about what she’d heard from some of the younger Slytherins; apparently, there’s talk of closing the school for good. But she never mentioned Jeff, or asked why I hadn’t told her about him cheating with Pansy. In fact, we barely said anything on that level at all; it was mostly a distant conversation, as though we’d just met for the first time. 

Anyway, when I got back to Kensington Manor, it was to find George, Izzy and Nelson in varying degrees of panic. Being purebloods, and relatively well-known throughout the wizarding world, George and Izzy knew they were in danger. With my Muggle grandmother, we were a prime target if You-Know-Who got wind of it. Nelson was — predictably — worried mainly for his own safety, though he expressed concern over me, too, which was very … _paternal_ of him. 

My grandma, though anxious, didn’t really see the threat that now hung over our world. I don’t think she really understands that the Killing Curse is a lot worse than anything made by Muggles, even though I’ve already tried to explain it to her. 

So, when I got back to the Manor, things were definitely much more tense than when I’d left at the beginning of my sixth year. George was busy having security spells fixed to the doors and windows. Izzy and my grandma were making lists of all the things we might need in the next few weeks. I’m sitting in the living room, trying to concentrate on a book, without much success. The past couple of weeks have been so surreal and unbelievable that it renders the ordinary things quite mundane. 

Later that day, just before dinner, an owl tapped on the window of my bedroom. I wasn’t expecting any post; I’d sent a letter to Lydia just yesterday, and there was no way she would have replied so soon. Nevertheless, I opened my window and let the owl in. 

It stuck out a leg; fastened to it was a small, slip of parchment, though it looked like it could barely hold a sentence. I was wrong about that; it actually held two very small ones. The owl had alighted on the balcony outside my window, and it stood there patiently, as though waiting for an answer. Curiously, I unfolded the parchment and read what was written on it.

_Meet me outside Flourish & Blott’s, Thursday, 2 ‘o’ clock. DM._

Oh. 

I’d recognise that elegant scrawl anywhere; how many times have I sat and watched Draco write essays and notes and sign his name on things? I checked the letter again, and yes, there was that little flourish on the ‘D’, and the ampersand had a definite curl to it. It was, without doubt, written by Draco’s hand. 

I should have known something like this would happen. It was only a matter of time really; after all, with things left so badly between us, one of us had to crack first. I actually thought it would be me, and I can’t decide whether I’m glad that I didn’t, or not. 

I didn’t reply to the owl straight away as Izzy shouted me down for dinner just then. And besides, I have no reason to go into Diagon Alley these days as Hogwarts looks likely to be closed in September, so there’d be a load of questions about why I wanted to go there on Thursday, and it would cause more trouble than it was worth, quite honestly. So, I went down to the dining room, where George, Izzy, my grandma and Nelson were already seated, waiting to start eating. I slipped into my usual chair, and dinner began. 

At first, I concentrated more on the meal than on the conversation going on around me. After all, it was only more of Nelson’s escapades in South Africa, which thrilling as they always are, they’re hardly believable. 

When Izzy mentioned Diagon Alley, however, I glanced up quickly. 

“I know the wizarding world is up in arms, George,”� she said impatiently, “but we need to stock up on some things now, in case we can’t get them later.”� 

George grudgingly admitted that she was right, though he didn’t seem happy about it. “In that case, we’ll all go,”� he said, and Izzy was wise enough to take the compromise. 

There was a pause, in which the only sounds to be heard were that of cutlery clinking gently against plates. If Izzy had a trip to Diagon Alley organised, then there was no way I'd be able to meet Draco. Unless ... unless I can convince Izzy to go on Thursday instead, and that’s hardly likely, right? 

"What - what day are you going to Diagon Alley?" I asked casually, slicing a piece of beef in half on my plate. 

Izzy gave me a curious look, as did my grandmother, but I pretended I hadn't noticed. 

"I'm not sure," Izzy said eventually. "Sometime in the next couple of days, maybe? Perhaps Thursday ..." 

She trailed off as I dropped my fork on my plate with a loud clatter. I picked it up hastily and took a nervous drink from my water goblet, avoiding everyone's eyes. 

There was another silence then, to clarify, I said: 

"So, Thursday, then?" 

"Yes." Izzy gave me a more concerned look. "Are you alright, Blaise?" 

She must've noticed my relieved expression, and I smiled reassuringly, though it felt oddly disembodied, like I was an outside spectator, watching the scene in front of me. 

"Yeah," I heard myself say calmly. "I'm just fine."  

***

We used the Floo to get to Diagon Alley. The minute we got there, however, I could see George and Izzy were having second thoughts. My grandmother had elected to stay at home, and Nelson had gone off to see some friend somewhere.

The streets were almost completely empty. Discarded rubbish was strewn across the cobbled pathways, fluttering in the faint breeze. There were only a handful of people out in the open, and they moved about quickly, trying not to draw attention to themselves, and keeping their eyes strictly on the ground. Most of the shop windows bore signs that said, "Closed until further notice," and the ones that were still open looked as though they didn't intend on remaining so for much longer. All in all, it was an extremely depressing sight to see the once-crowded, lively Diagon Alley so ... silent and dead. 

"Hurry up and get what you need," George said to Izzy and I. "Then we can be out of here as soon as possible." 

I'd wondered how I was supposed to go to Flourish and Blott's without arousing any suspicion and without George or Izzy tagging along with me; now it seemed that, as long as I stayed within shouting distance, I could do what I pleased, if I did it quickly enough. 

So, while Izzy was in the shop that sold various magical instruments, I slipped across the road and around the back of Flourish and Blott’s. There was already somebody there, though; a boy about my age was leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette. I hesitated — for all I knew, he could’ve been a psycho killer — and then I strode forward, coming to a stop a few feet away from the boy. I glanced at him curiously, but either he didn’t notice, or he was ignoring me. 

Several minutes went by in total silence, except for the chirping of birds; I coughed once or twice just to make some noise. Eventually, I saw the boy move out the corner of my eye; he seemed to be looking over at me. 

“D’you have the time?”� he asked, taking a draw of his cigarette. 

“Sorry, no,”� I replied. “I think it must be about two ‘o’ clock, though,”� I added helpfully. 

“Cheers.”� The silence returned as the boy went back to being absorbed in his cigarette. Then: 

“You waiting for someone? he said casually. 

He scrubbed a strand of brown hair out of his eyes, then turned his attention back to me. 

“Yeah,”� I said, but didn’t elaborate. 

“Boyfriend? Mates?”� the boy asked interestedly. He smirked, “Girlfriend?”� 

I scowled and faced him, about to tell him to mind his own business, when I noticed two things that made me stop. 

The first was that the boy had grey eyes. Really _familiar_ grey eyes, actually, and I stared at them, puzzled. 

The second thing was the boy’s hair: it was slowly lengthening and getting lighter, until it finally settled on his jaw-line and had turned an arresting shade of ash blond. 

_Draco_. 

There was a second’s pause, and then I punched him hard on the arm. 

Almost laughing, Draco winced slightly. “What was that for?”� he asked, rubbing the spot where my fist had connected. 

I ignored this, instead focusing on the cigarette in his hand, which, by this point, had burnt almost to the brown filter bit. He saw me staring at it and sheepishly stubbed it out against the wall. 

“Since when do you smoke?”� I asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“I … picked it up over the past few weeks,”� Draco said nonchalantly, though a faint frown creased his forehead. 

And that was it. As soon as he said that, I remembered why I was meeting him in the alley behind Flourish and Blott’s, and why I wouldn’t be returning to Hogwarts in September. Draco seemed to realise the effect his words had, and the smirk dropped from his face. There was a long silence as I cast about for a neutral topic of conversation; needless to say, these were few and far between. I eventually settled for asking how he was, and he seemed relieved that I was the one who had spoken first. 

“I’m alright,”� he said quietly. “You?”� 

“Not bad.”� 

I really didn’t know what else to say, after that. It’s almost funny really; after everything Draco and I have been through, you’d think we’d have more to say to each other. Actually, it’s not that we can’t hold a conversation, it’s just that we’re trying to avoid all the sensitive subjects that will bring reality crashing back into focus. I don’t think we’re ready to have that discussion just yet. 

Even though I’m supposed to be pissed off with him for not telling me about the Dark Mark and everything, all I can think about is how much I want to kiss him. Pathetic, isn’t it? I _should_ be worried about why Draco needed to see me, I _should_ be asking him what he’s been doing since he fled from Hogwarts, and I _should_ be wondering what he’s going to do next. But I’m not. I couldn’t care less about any of those things as long as I’m close enough to touch him. It’s selfish, yes, but what else is new? 

I made a decision right then and there, and before I could back out of it, I reached for the collar of Draco’s robes, pulled him forwards and put on the best smirk I could muster. Maybe it’s the shock, or the fact that I haven’t — so far — berated him for joining up with You-Know-Who, or maybe he just wanted this as much as I did, but Draco didn’t offer up much resistance. 

I took a deep breath and said softly, “I really, really miss you.”� 

I could see him fighting a very relieved smile. “So you should,”� he murmured, laughter apparent in his eyes even though his face was blank. “God, I miss you too,”� he added, turning serious. 

He stared at me for a long time after that, as though memorising my face, which had me worried for a minute until I thought to push the notion out of my head, impulsively pressing my lips to his. 

And, oh God, I’ve missed this, this feeling of complete bliss that starts the moment Draco’s mouth lands on mine, and doesn’t end until a few hours later. It’s nothing poetic, nothing glamorous; it’s not even that romantic, really. 

But it’s everything. And that’s the way it should be.

***

I met up with Izzy and George outside the boarded up Magical Menagerie. I was so sure my face was flushed and my hair a complete bird’s nest, but if it was, neither George nor Izzy mentioned it.

When we got back to the manor, Nelson had arrived back before us, and my grandma had prepared a quick lunch; then we sat in the living room for a while, not knowing what else to do now that it was no longer safe to go about our own business. 

I thought about Draco constantly, and Lydia almost more than that; I was worried about the former, and hadn’t heard from the latter at all. I almost want Lydia to send me a Howler full of shrieks about how terrible a best friend I am, and how I’ve betrayed her beyond belief, but I know that if I do get one, it would mean that she hasn’t forgiven me, and probably never will. And if that happens, I think it’ll mean the end of our friendship. 

That’s it. I need to see her, maybe give her an explanation, an apology, whatever she wants, otherwise I’m going to be stuck in this unforgiving limbo for the rest of my life. I can’t stand not knowing if we’re still friends or not, and Lydia won’t be the first to break the silence; she’s stubborn, same as me, but I’m the one in the wrong … I’m the who’s going to have to swallow her pride. 

I informed my grandma, Izzy, George and Nelson the next day, and though they all had identical looks of anxiety on their faces, they wished me good luck, and even managed to get the Floo network opened for a few hours, which is no mean feat these days. George and Izzy have some great contacts at the Ministry of Magic. 

I’d already sent Lydia an owl telling her to expect me within the week, and though I never did get a reply to that letter, I threw caution to the winds and decided that, just this once, it didn’t matter that I was right or wrong, but only that I made an attempt. 

I’ve only ever Flooed once before, and that was a few years ago, when George and Izzy took me to a party a friend of theirs was hosting. Somehow, I’d forgotten the awful spinning sensation, and the nausea, though how I managed that I don’t know, so jumping into the warm green flames now seemed a monumentally bad idea, and I almost jumped back out again. But this is something I have to do, otherwise I’ll never get any peace. And if that sounds selfish to you, I don’t give a damn. 

When I staggered out of the fireplace at Lydia’s end, I had to take several deep breaths before I could even begin to formulate a plan in my mind. I was saved the trouble of having to wander around Lydia’s house aimlessly by the arrival of her mother in the room where the Floo is kept. 

Ilsa Gray was a tallish woman, her dark hair swept out of her face into a delicate knot on the back of her head. She carried herself in much the same way as Lydia, and I could immediately see the similarities between mother and daughter; they have the same long, thin nose and blue-grey eyes. In fact, the only difference between the two of them that I can see is that Lydia has auburn hair and looks somewhat more approachable than her mother. 

“Blaise,”� Mrs Gray said pleasantly, and I wondered if she knew that Lydia and I hadn’t spoken in almost a two months. “Looking for Lydia?”� 

“Yes, Mrs Gray,”� I replied politely. “Can you just let her know I’m here, please?”� 

Mrs Gray smiled and told me to call her by her first name, and then she led me out of the Floo room, through the living room and into the hall. When we came to a set of stairs, Mrs Gray — sorry, Ilsa — led me straight up them, along the landing, eventually stopping at the door furthermost from the staircase. 

She knocked lightly on the door. “Lydia, darling?”� she said. 

Lydia’s voice, though slightly muffled nevertheless came through the door. “Yeah?”� 

“Blaise is here to see you,”� Ilsa told her. 

There was complete silence on the other side of the door. Lydia’s mother glanced at me, a frown creasing her forehead. Eventually, after what seemed like an age, Lydia told me to come in, and I did so. Ilsa gave what looked to me like an encouraging smile, but I may have been imagining things, so I pretended I hadn’t seen it and closed the door behind me. 

I turned around to find Lydia staring at me, her expression shifting from confusion to anger to relief and back again, and if I can still read her face so easily, it means our friendship still has a chance. 

She gestured for me to sit down and I did, not knowing what to say to break this awful silence hanging in the air. Turned out I didn’t have to. 

“What do you want, Blaise?”� she asked, her tone almost weary. 

I don’t know what I thought I was doing, coming here to see her. It was clear from her voice that she wasn’t interested in anything I had to say, and who can blame her? Still, I’m here now, I may as well try to salvage what’s left of our friendship. 

“It’s just … well I — you see …”� Try as I might, though, I stammered incoherently and knew Lydia’s patience was beginning to wane. I wanted to say something to explain why I did what I did, excuse the fact that I kept something from her, apologise profusely for my short-sightedness; yet my mind’s a blank and I can’t seem to get the words out. 

I stammered a couple of sentences out again, until even Lydia had had enough, and she waved a hand vaguely at the door. 

“I think you should go,”� she said quietly, not looking at me. “If you can’t —”� 

“I’m sorry!”� I blurted out, and she finally raised her eyes to meet mine. “I should’ve told you about … about what happened. I only wanted to keep you from getting hurt, and I didn’t think you’d believe me even if I told you … but that’s no excuse,”� I added, seeing her frown. “I have no excuse.”� 

There was another long silence, only this time it was because it was Lydia’s turn to be speechless. She stared at me incredulously for what seemed like hours but was probably only a couple of minutes, and then she stood up and started pacing her room. 

“I don’t care about excuses,”� she said suddenly, whirling around to face me. “Or apologies, either. I just want to know why everyone else had to find out before me, why _Malfoy_ had to know before me, why you let Pansy humiliate me in front of our whole house!”� Her eyes were bright with tears for a moment, then she blinked several times and they disappeared. “Come on, Blaise, you always have all the answers.”� Her tone was almost mocking, I was sure of it. 

“I just told you,”� I snapped, irritated that she didn’t look like she was ever going to forgive me. “I was trying to stop you from getting hurt. You’re my best friend, I wasn’t about to let Pansy and that bastard upset you!”� 

“Yeah, but now I look like a complete prat!”� she shouted. “All because _you didn’t want to hurt me!_ ”� 

I stood up so quickly I sent my chair skidding backwards. 

“Would you have believed me if I had?”� I said, my voice low with anger. 

Lydia hesitated, opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish, and in that instant, I knew what was wrong with her. I sighed heavily and dropped into my seat. 

“It’s not your fault, you know.”� 

“What are you talking about?”� 

“This,”� I said, gesturing vaguely at her. “Your anger, your whole argument, whatever … you think this is somehow all your fault, right?”� 

“Blaise, when the _hell_ did you become a psychologist?”� Her sneer, when it came, contained surprisingly little venom or conviction. “That’s absolutely ridiculous. What makes you think something so — so …”� 

“Am I right?”� 

Halfway through her feverish pacing, Lydia stopped as abruptly as though she’d hit an invisible wall. Then her face crumpled and she turned and threw herself on her bed. For a few minutes all I could hear was her harsh sobbing, and then she rolled over, blinking back tears, and looked at me. 

“Of course you’re right,”� she said, with a watery smile. “You’re always bloody right. And how could it not be my fault?”� she added very, very softly. “Pansy was only able to get to Jeff because we weren’t —”� 

“Pansy was able to get to Jeff because he put up very little resistance,”� I interrupted sharply. “You had nothing to do with it. It was a completely insane plan, anyway; she was trying to get Draco back through you.”� 

Lydia’s eyes widened. “She was? But that’s … that’s —”� 

“Completely insane, yeah.”� 

“So Pansy could have used anyone, anyone at all? And she used me and Jeff?”� 

“To be honest, I think Jeff was pretty willing to be used, but yes, that’s what she did.”� I shrugged and then said, “And when that didn’t work, she just went straight for me, to get Draco back that way. Didn’t work,”� I added, somewhat smugly. 

Lydia looked like she was about to laugh, but then her expression fell, and she said, “But it’s still my fault because I kissed George … I tempted fate and …”� 

“Don’t tell me you believe that fate and meant-to-be crap? Look, you may be responsible for the thing with George, but that doesn’t mean you should beat yourself up because Jeff turned out to be a complete wanker.”� 

She agreed fervently with that bit, and then we had a long laugh listing all the incredibly dumb things that Jeff had done or said, and by the time I realised it was getting dark and that I should be going back home, she looked considerably more cheerful than when I’d arrived. 

As I was about to leave, Lydia suddenly said, “Oh, what about you and Malfoy? I meant to ask you earlier …”� 

I laughed, just because it was nice not to have to worry so much about her and Draco, and because I hadn’t felt this light and hopeful in weeks. 

“He’s a Death Eater, and I’m a half-blood,”� I said. “We’re perfect.”�


End file.
